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TALES 



OF 



HUMOUR AND ROMANCE. 



Afeiv of the Critical Opinions of this Work. 



Mr. Holcraft has acquitted himself very well as a translator from 
Hoffman.— Blackwood? s Magazine. 

The mine of German literature, so far from being wrought out, 
has not been much more than partially opened by English ingen- 
uity and industry. The present productive selection shows that 
both novel and valuable materials lie upon the surface, to reward 
the competent and enterprizing labourer. The translations seem 
to be faithfully made, and to preserve the characteristics of the 
originals. — Literary Gazette. 

An interesting little specimen of German literature has lately 
made its appearance, which to the amateurs of Tales especially, 
will be found a decided tonne bouche. It is a selection made by 
Mr. Holcraft from the most popular novelists of a country pecu- 
liarly sacred to the genius of romance, and contains a variety of 
amusing narratives, as different in their composition as pleasing in 
their general effect.— Globe and Traveller. 

Richard Holcraft has executed his task extremely well. The 
Tales are good; the translation, which has evidently been a labour 
of love, is free and spirited, and bears internal marks of correctness, 
which may satisfy those who never saw the original — Scotsman. 



TALES 



OF 



HUMOUR AND ROMANCE, 



SELECTED FROM 



^ojmlar <@*rttum Wivittvfr 



AND TRANSLATED BY 



RICHARD HOLCRAFT, B.A. 



LONDON: 

LONGMAN, REES, ORME, BROWN, & GREEN; 
AND OLIVER & BOYD, EDINBURGH. 



MDCCCXXIX. 



TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE. 



He who has just risen from a bed of sickness and is 
tasting the first moments of returning health, in gene- 
ral possesses a peculiar skill in constructing those base- 
less edifices which the French call chateaux en Espagne. 
The reader who has ever been an invalid himself, will 
feel the truth of this observation. For my own part, I 
have long been practically familiar with the fact, and 
have been in the habit of enjoying the pleasure arising 
from this source, as a compensation provided by Nature 
for one of the " worst ills that flesh is heir to.'* 

On a late occasion while recovering from a tedious 
illness, I thought one evening, I felt the approaching 
inspiration of Hygeia, and threw myself into my easy 
chair to indulge in a few architectural vagaries. But 
alas ! the fabric I had commenced was not destined to 
reach the skies, for scarcely had it attained the Lillipu- 
tian dimensions of St. Peter's Church, when the whole 
was dashed to the ground by the entrance of my old 
friend and college chum, Tom Stapleton, of the Inner 
Temple. 



iv PREFACE. 

" Well Dick," said he, as he approached my chair; 
" still in the land of the living, — no hopes for your youn- 
ger brother." 

" Not on the present occasion," said I y rising as if to 
show my recovered strength. 

As I stood before him 

u Heu quantum mutatus ab ill© 
Hector e !" 

I observed his eye glance over my wasted limbs, and 
thought it glistened with a tear, as it surveyed the 

" Lean and slippered pantaloon" 

into which a few weeks sickness had transformed the 
once athletic form of his quondam schoolfellow. 

"Courage!" said he, looking up, "the danger is now 
past, — you have got a new lease of life, and God grant 
it be a long one. But what are those papers?" pointing 
to a number of Manuscripts which lay scattered over 
the table, " always scribbling, Dick, — posthumous fame 
no doubt, — a drop of ink, you know, falling upon a 
thought makes one immortal." 

" Well, what can an invalid do better? I verily be- 
lieve I owe more to these papers for my restoration to 
health than to all Dr. B.'s prescriptions, or even my 
Aunt Margery's cordials. — They are some translations 
I have been making from your favourite language, the 
German." 

" Translations from the German ! feless me, all the 

EWorld now-a-days draws upon this intellectual bank, 

but though the run has been very great, there is yet 



PREFACE- v 

no lack of ore and of sterling quality too, to meet the 

demands of all who are qualified to draw upon it Kites, 

I suppose, works of imagination." 

" To be serious, they are prose works of fiction by 
some of their most approved authors." 

" Oh then you mean to publish them." 

" Why to be sure, authors are like mothers, they are 
not the first to see the faults of their own offspring ; but 
methinks the tales are as good as many that have been 
given to the world, and although, as you know, they 
have been translated by one who has lived more in the 
bustle of the world than in the stillness of the closet, I 
hope that, besides being correct transcripts, they are 
not altogether destitute of the spirit of the originals. 
The object I have in view if I publish them, will be to 
give some notion of the style of the novel writers of 
Germany." 

" But my dear Dick," taking up one or two of the 
papers and turning over the pages of them, " you can 
never expect to s-ive an idea of a novel-writer by such 
short specimens as these." 

" In my opinion, Tom, it requires no lengthy nar- 
rative to give an idea of a peculiar and individual style, 
although I must confess that to give a correct notion of 
the strength, variety, and power of an author's intellect 
and imagination, something more detailed than those. 
would be requisite ; and while I presume that the style 
of these various writers would be illustrated by the pub- 
lication of these manuscripts, I could never once ima- 
gine that the varied powers of their mind and their fancy 



vi PREFACE. 

were at all perfectly developed. But come sit down 
and let me have your opinion of them." 

My friend drew in a chair, took up the largest of 
the manuscripts, and found it to be Madame de Sen- 
der i, by E. T. Hoffman. 

" What do you think of this author ? said I." 

" Oh, at present Hoffman is all the rage in Germany, 
and this tale is no bad specimen of the writer's style, 
for in it may be traced an imitation of our historical 
Novel, a species of composition which the works of 
the Great Unknown have brought into vogue as much 
in Germany as in England. I was in Berlin when 
this tale was published — the character of Rene Car- 
dillac, like other things, was a ' day's wonder/ — the 
Critics, however, thought that if the Author had kept 
more to the history of the period, it would have been 
better — too much of the apothecary of Mantua."' 

" What, do you think < le poudre de Succession 
was all a fable, — read Dr. Paris's work on Medical 
Jurisprudence, and you will find details that are as 
curious, and apparently as imaginative as those of 
Hoffman." 

" But you have been adding here — the German 
edition I read had neither chapters nor mottos." 

M Est mobus in rebus. — Do you imagine a Novel 
would be read without those ornaments now-a-days. 
Literary caterers for the public must bend at the 
shrine of fashion as well as others, and an Author 
must study the form of a Novel, as a tailor the cut 
of a coat. There is as much mode in Colburn's title 



PREFACE. vu 

pages, as is in Stulze's dinner suits! — But after all, 
don't you think these breathing posts an improve- 
ment?" 

" Perhaps they are, — but translations ought to be * 
perfect transcripts." 

" You forget then what Horace says, which by the 
way, is as true with respect to a translation as an original 
composition. Nee desilies imitator in arctum. — But no 
matter, in every thing else you will find it to be so— 
but here is one by Schiller in puris naturalibus" 

" Frederick Schiller — the Shakespeare of Germany ' 
. — a prose work of fiction by the Author of Wallen- 
stein ? I do not recollect any." 

" Have you never read his Kleine Prossaische 
Schriften? — there are not many tales amongst them, 
but the few that are, sufficiently prove his high talent 
for this species of composition, and sure I am, had he 
lived in the Novel-writing days of the present period, 
he would have been an able and successful Romance 
writer, and the world, instead of being indebted to 
him for sublime dramatic creations, would have been 
presented with spirited and graphic pictures of Ger- 
man manners and national feeling. I am sure you 
must have seen that" 

" Let me see," as he turned over the leaves of the 
Dishonoured Irreclaimable, c< Oh yes, I have read 
this long ago, and methinks in an English garb too. — 
No bad argument, if I remember right, for the abroga- 
tion of the Game Laws. I wish our Country Squires 



vin PREFACE. 

would read it, — we should not have our prisons so 
crowded." 

" What? Do you think there is a transla- 
tion of that already — hut no matter, I am sure mine 
is as correct though I have not seen the other, and 
a good tale is not the worse of being twice told. 
But here is a curiosity — two Tales, or whatever else 
you may call them, by Jean Paul Richter." 

" The Author whose works Madame de Stael con- 
sidered as incapable of passing the boundaries of Ger- 
many? This is perilous ground to tread." 

" I am aware that one cannot read two sentences of 
Richter without finding many faults, but surely he never 
could have acquired so much fame in his own country 
without some just title to it." 

" That is all very true, but may not his fame rest 
upon no better foundation than the sentiment of Lu- 
cretius, 

Quod adest pracsto (nisi quid cognovimus ante 
Suavius) imprimis placet? 

merely upon his singularity? In my opinion his writ- 
ings are by far too sentimental — too imaginative, and 
too metaphorical, and his characters too simple and 
unsophisticated for the present state of English read- 
ers." 

" Sans donte. Notwithstanding, I have made the 
attempt, to put this eccentric writer into an English 
garb, and no easy task it was I assure you. I am 
satisfied however that those who love tales merely 



PREFACE. 4X 

for their story, ought to pass over * the Death of an 
Angel, and the Moon," while those who are gifted with 
a little more imagination than their neighbours, will 
find in the succession of touching episodes of this 
writer, more than enough to counterbalance the im- 
perfections that fastidious critics might find in the 
style." 

" But good Heavens, this dedication to Phillipina 
will never do — folly and seriousness mingled together. 
— I would advise you to leave it out." 

M Well, then, I must at once abandon the idea of 
giving a specimen of Jean Paul's style, for all his 
works are 

Mixtoque insania luctu. 

No, no, I am determined to give as perfect a trans - 
script of Richter as I can. I shall show up his merits 
and demerits, and let the reader judge for himself.'* 

" If you meant to publish them as a literary 
curiosity, then I think you are right in being faithful, 
but probably for a work such as you propose, you 
should follow the example of Madame de Stael, who 
has translated a dream by this Author, agreeably to 
the taste of her fastidious countrymen. But what 
comes next?" 

" Two tales by Langbein, celebrated in Germany for 
his humour, I believe, but an evident imitator, like 
many others, of old Boccacio." 

"Why that is dangerous ground to cull from — I 



x PREFACE. 

hope you have avoided in your selection, the gay gal- 
lantry of his prototype — nothing of 

" Donne amabile e mariti ingannati?" 

that won't do, — recollect the Chief Justice's finding the 
other day." 

" I wa3 careful about this, but in my fastidiousness 
I was obliged to be content with but an indifferent 
specimen of the author's spirit — Langbein's Schwarike 
or Jokes, are nearly all interlarded with animated de- 
scriptions in verse, which I would willingly have trans- 
lated ; but the fact is, there was not one of them that 
was not imbued with by far too much of the spirit of 
Casti." 

" Pope's lines are applicable to not a few in the 
world, and Langbein is one of them. 

" There are whom Heaven has blest with store of wit, 
Yet want as much again to govern it." 

But among all your tales, have you none by the most 
celebrated and most voluminous of novelists, Augustus 
La FontaineT 

" Oh ! certainly— here is the Haunted Castle — not 
a bad specimen of this writer's style— English readers 
will probably think it tame however." 

" Well I wont deny that — but with me La Fontaine 
is a great favorite. I like him for his simple unpre- 
tending style — he is certainly the clearest and purest 
of all German novelists, and by the critics of his own 
country is considered to have been the first who could 



PREFACE. xi 

write his own language, free from that mist which en- 
veloped the majority of the early writings of Germany; 
— and then his descriptions are so beautiful and unaf- 
fected — his pictures of unsophisticated life, so natural, 
and so spirited — the affections of the heart are so simply 
yet so tenderly exhibited, and the scenes of domestic 
bliss so happily drawn and so modestly coloured, that 
one feels interested, although the plot is probably indif- 
ferent enough." 

" The Germans must have the same opinion o. him 
as you have, else he would not write so much — by the 
last Leipsic Catalogue, I see he has published upwards 
of two hundred and fifty volumes ; — when will the hard- 
working and spirit-stirring pen of the author of Waverly 
equal this?" 

" When we can justly apply to him the words of 
Ariosto, 

" O esecrabile avarizia! O ingorda 
Fame d'avere!" — 

and not till then." 

" Aye, to be sure the " Auri sacra fames" produces 
many things, and novels among the rest. But these 
two other tales, what are they?" 

" They are from the pen of Theodore Charles Kor- 
ner, the lyric poet of Germany, and I translated them 
in the consciousness that any thing from such a charac- 
ter would be interesting." 

" As a prose writer he never was celebrated." 

"No! but as a Poet and Patriot he has had few 



xii PREFACE. 

competitors, and I know no better eulogy that can be 
pronounced upon him, than to say, that his songs 
tended much to awaken the dormant energies of his 
countrymen, to free their land from foreign bondage, 
and that he died in the hour of victory at the head of 
a band of patriots, fighting for that freedom, in praise 
of which his lyre had been strung." 

" Well upon the whole, I do not think your project 
of publishing these tales a bad one — provided the world 
knew your views as well as I do." 

" I can make these known in a preface." 

" 'Tis a pity you could not talk the matter over with 
each of your readers, as you have now done with me." 

The hint was too good to be lost. So as soon as 
my friend left me, I noted down our conversation ex- 
actly as it had occurred et la void! 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

MADAME DE SCUDERT, by E. T. Hoffman, 1 

THE DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE, by 

Frederick Schiller, 137 

THE DEATH OF AN ANGEL, by Jean Paul 

RlCHTER, ,.,. 177 

THE MOON, by Jean Paul Richter, 187 

THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION, by A. T. 

E. Langbein, 209 

THE BROKEN LEG, by A. T. E. Langbein, 217 

THE HAUNTED CASTLE, by Augustus La Fontaine,225 

WOLDEMAR, by Theodore Charles Korner, 275 

THE HARP, by Theodore Charles Korner, 297 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



S 

E, T. HOFFMAN, 



" It will have blood, they say blood will have blood, 
Stones have been known to move and trees to speak, 
Augurs and understood relations, have 
By maggot pies, and choughs, and rooks brought forth 
The secret'st man of blood." 

Shakespeare, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 



CHAPTER I. 



O mirk, mirk, is this midnight hour, 
And loud the tempests roar; 

A waefu' wanderer seeks thy tower, 
Lord Gregory ope thy door. 



In the Rue St Honore till lately stood the small house 
wherein Magdalene Scuderi (celebrated for her beauti- 
ful verses) lived under the patronage of Louis XIV. 
and Madame de Maintenon. 

About midnight, it might be in the autumn of the 
year 1680, there was beard a loud and violent knock- 
ing at the door of this house, which echoed through 
hall and passages. Baptiste, who in Madame Scudens 
small establishment acted as cook, lackey, and porter, 
had gone with the permission of his mistress to the 



2 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

country, to celebrate the marriage of his sister, and it 
so happened that Maria the chambermaid was the only 
person awake in the house. She heard the oft repeat- 
ed knockings at the door, and it immediately occurred 
to her, that Baptiste was absent and that she remained 
the sole protector of herself and mistress. All the cruel- 
ties of thieves, robbers, and murderers, which were 
then so prevalent in Paris rushed to her remembrance, 
and it appeared to her highly probable that it might 
be a party of assassins aware of the unprotected and 
lonely situation of the house that were now making the 
noise, and who if admitted would execute some base 
design upon her mistress. Maria therefore remained 
in her chamber trembling and in despair, at the same 
time vowing vengeance upon Baptiste and his sister's 
marriage. 

The knocker meanwhile thundered louder and 
louder, while in the intervals Maria thought she heard 
a voice crying, " For the love of God, open the door ! 
open the door!" Trembling with anxiety she seized 
hold of a candlestick with a burning taper and ran out 
to the passage, — there she distinctly heard the voice of 
the disturber of her rest, exclaiming. " For heaven's 
sake open the door, — open the door !" In this strain 
thought the maid no robber speaks ; who knows but it 
may be some persecuted wretch who seeks the protec- 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 3 

tion of my mistress who is well known to delight in 
generous actions, but I must be cautious ! 

Maria therefore opened a window and cried down, 
" Who knocks so loud at this unseasonable hour, 
awaking every one from their sleep?" while she 
gave to her deep voice as much of the manly character 
as was possible. 

In the glimmer of the moonbeams which then broke 
through the dark clouds she beheld a tall figure, muffled 
in a light grey mantle with a broad slouched hat drawn 
down so far as to shade eyes and countenance. She 
now called with a louder voice, so that it might be 
heard by the person below, " Baptiste, Claude, Pierre, 
rise and see what villain attempts to break into the 
house!" Immediately upon this a soft and lamentable 
voice answered from below, " Alas Maria, I know full 
well it is you, notwithstanding the vain attempt to dis- 
guise your voice, I know too, that Baptiste has gone 
to the country and that you remain at home alone with 
your lady — only trust me, open the door and fear 
nothing; I must needs speak with your mistress this 
very moment." " Do you imagine," replied the cham- 
bermaid, " that you could speak with my lady at this 
untimely hour ; you must know she has long since gone 
to sleep, and that I would not waken her upon any ac- 



4 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

count from the first sweet slumber which her years so 
much require." 

" I know," replied the stranger, " I know that your 
lady has but this very moment laid aside the manu- 
script of her novel Clelia, at which she incessantly and 
anxiously labours, and is just now writing down some 
verses of it which she intends reading over to Madame 
de Maintenon to-morrow morning. I beseech you 
Maria have compassion on me and open the door; — 
know that it is no smaller matter than to save a wretch 
from destruction, know that honour, liberty, even the 
very life of a man depend upon my speaking to your 
lady this moment. Consider too, that your mistress 
would never forgive you should she be informed, 
that it was you who with hard-hearted cruelty drove 
from her door the wretched creature who came to im- 
plore her assistance." 

" But why do you claim the compassion of my mis- 
tress at this unusual hour, come back early to-morrow ;" 
this said Maria from above, while it was answered 
from below, — " Think ye that Fate can pause and suit 
itself to time and hours, when like the thunderbolt 
it is about to strike, — if there be but one moment 
left for salvation dare it be posponed ? — Open the door 
and fear nothing from a miserable, helpless creature, 
forsaken by the whole world, pursued and hunted by 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 5 

a horrid destiny, — who wishes to implore your lady 
to save him from a threatened danger. 

Maria perceived that while the unknown uttered 
those words, he gave a deep groan as if from violent 
sorrow, and at the same time the tone of the voice re- 
sembled that of a youth deeply yet softly penetrating 
to the heart. She felt moved, and without further con- 
sideration went for the keys. 

The door was scarcely opened when the mantle- 
muffled figure rushed impetuously forward, and cried 
with a commanding and frantic voice while stepping 
past the maid into the hall ; " Conduct me to your 
lady !" In the greatest consternation Maria raised the 
candlestick, and the rays of the taper fell upon the 
countenance of a youth that was deadly pale and fright- 
fully distorted, and the maid's terror was assuredly not 
diminished when the young man threw open his man- 
tle and her eye caught the bright handle of a stiletto 
peeping out of his bosom. The man darted at her 
his sparkling eyes and cried in a tone of greater agita- 
tion, " Conduct me to your lady — this instant conduct 
me to your lady!" 

Maria now imagined her worthy lady in the greatest 
danger; the profound respect and ardent attachment 
which she had so long entertained for one who had 
treated her so kindly, burned now more strongly than 



6 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

ever in her affectionate bosom, and produced a courage 
which she herself never once dreamt of possessing. 
She hastily shut the door of the chamber which had 
been left open, placed herself before it, and said with 
energy and firmness, "your intemperate conduct in 
the house accords indeed badly with your lamentable 
wailings when on the outside, which as I now observe, 
have awakened at an evil hour my sympathy and com- 
passion; — with my lady you neither shall nor can 
speak at present, and provided you have no evil design 
and fear not to meet the light of day, come to-morrow 
and tell her what you are now so anxious to relate ; 
but at present I beg you will quit the house." 

The man gave a deep sigh, stared at the girl with 
a terrifying look and seized hold of his stiletto. Maria 
secretly recommended her soul to heaven, but remain- 
ed stedfast, looked the man boldly in the face, and 
pressed herself closer to the door of the chamber 
through which he must needs go to reach the apart- 
ment of her mistress. 

" Let me go to your lady I tell you," reiterated the 
stranger. 

"Do what you please," rejoined Maria, " I shall 
not stir from this spot; execute the foul deed which 
you have begun, and you will also find a shameful 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 7 

death on the Place de Greve, like your villanous 
companions." 

" Ha," exclaimed the man, " you are right, Maria, 
you are right, I do appear armed like a robber and as- 
sassin, but my companions are not judged — are not 
executed!" While saying so he drew from his bosom 
the dagger and cast a withering look at the terrified 
woman. 

" Merciful God!" cried Maria, expecting the deadly 
thrust, but at that moment the clash of arms and the 
trampling of horses were heard in the street. " The 
police, the police ! — help, help !" cried the maid. 

" Unfeeling woman! you wish my destruction — 
all is over, all is over — take, take — give this to your 
lady this very night; to-morrow if you please." The 
man lowly murmuring pulled the candlestick from the 
girl's grasp, extinguished the taper, and pressed a small 
casket into her hands. " For heaven's sake give this 
casket to your mistress," cried the man and rushed 
from the house. 

Maria who had fallen to the ground, arose with dif- 
ficulty and groped back to her chamber, where quite 
exhausted and incapable of speech, she sank upon 
a chair; but a few seconds had not elapsed before 
a noise with the keys which she had left in the street 
door, attracted her attention ; the door was then lock- 



8 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

ed and at length light uncertain footsteps approached 
her room. Immoveably fixed and speechless from ter- 
ror, she awaited her frightful fate, but how changed 
were her feelings when the door opened and at the 
first glance she recognised the faithful Baptiste, who, 
looking deadly pale and full of consternation, exclaim- 
ed on entering, " By all the saints, tell, Maria, what 

has happened ; oh my anxiety, my deadly anxiety 

I do not know what it was, but something impelled 
me, irresistibly, to leave the marriage feast yesterday 
evening, and so I came to our street, and there I 
thought to myself Maria is easily awakened, she will 
hear though I but tap at the street door, and will ad- 
mit me ; but at that moment a strong patrole of horse 
and foot, armed to the teeth, siezed me and would not 
permit me to proceed. Most fortunately Desgrais, 
the Lieutenant of Police, who knows me well, re- 
cognised me as a lantern was held before my face 
and said, ' Aha! Baptiste, how are you in the street 
at this hour of the night? You should remain in the 
house to protect it ; it is dangerous to be found here 
at this hour, — we expect to seize a good prize to-night/ 
You cannot conceive how these words struck me; 
and then when I step upon the threshold and encoun- 
ter a disguised man, with a bare stiletto in his hand, 
who, in his hurry to escape, whirles me round and 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 9 

round ; the house open, the keys in the lock, — tell me, 
tell me, Avhat all this betokens?'' 

Maria in some measure relieved from her fearful an- 
xiety, related what had happened. Both went into 
the hall and found the candlestick on the ground 
where the stranger had flung it on quitting the house. 

" It is but too true/' said Baptiste, " that our 
lady would have been robbed if not murdered ; the 
man knexv, as you have said, that you were alone with 
our mistress, and knew likewise, that she was still a- 
wake over her works ; probably he was one of those 
execrable villains who introduce themselves into the in- 
terior of houses, cunningly spying every thing that may 
serve for the furtherance of their diabolical purposes ; 
and the small casket, Maria, I think we ought to throw 
into the deepest part of the Seine. Who is our guar- 
antee that this fellow may not in some way or other 
aim at to the life of our respected mistress ; that she, 
opening the casket, may not fall down dead, as the 
old Marquis of Tournay did whilst merely opening a 
letter from an unknown hand?" 

The faithful servants after consulting for a long time, 
determined at last to relate every thing on the morrow 
to their mistress, and to present her also with the 
mysterious casket, which with due caution, might be 
safely opened. Both weighing every circumstance 



10 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

connected with the appearance of the suspicious stran- 
ger, thought that such a mystery upon which they dar- 
ed not decide, on their own judgment, should, at least, 
be concealed from the world, and they determined to 
leave it entirely to be discovered by their mistress. 



CHAPTER II. 



Put this in any liquid thing you will, 

And drink it off; and, if you had the strength 

Of twenty men, it would despatch you straight. 

Shakespeare, 



There were good grounds for Baptiste's worst suspi- 
cions. At that very moment Paris was the theatre of 
the most diabolical outrages, for it was then that a fatal 
proficiency in art, gave to wickedness the easiest and 
safest means for accomplishing its purposes. 

Glaser, a German apothecary, the best chemist of 
his time, busied himself, as was usual with persons of 
his science, in the study of alchymy ; he entertained 
the foolish hope with others like himself, of discovering 
the philosopher's stone. An Italian named Exili be- 
came his associate ; however, with him the art of mak- 
ing gold was only a pretence. He wished merely to 



12 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

learn the method of preparing, mixing, and subliming 
stuffs of a poisonous nature, in which his master was 
vainly attempting to find his fancied fortune, and he 
succeeded at last in the preparation of that fine poison, 
which, without smell or taste, was productive of the 
most fatal consequences, and which would work either 
immediately or at a distant period ; a mixture which left 
not the slightest trace in the human body, and deceived 
the vigilant and scientific eye of the physician, who 
never dreaming of poison, was ever willing to ascribe 
the death which it occasioned, to some natural cause. 

However cautiously Exili went to work, still he in- 
curred the suspicion of selling deadly drugs, and he 
was consequently carried to the Bastile. In the same 
room, soon after his apprehension, was confined Cap- 
tain Godin de St. Croix. This person had for a 
long time lived in that intimate connection with the 
Marchioness de Brinvillier, which brought disgrace 
upon her family; and while the Marquis remained to- 
tally insensible to the crimes of his lady, her father, 
Dreux d' Aubray, Civil Lieutenant of Paris, was forced 
to separate the guilty pair, by an order of arrest which 
was executed against the Captain. Passionate and 
careless of character, a contemner of religion, and a 
zealous pursuer of vice from his youth, vindictive and 
revengeful even to death, there could be nothing so 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. IB 

welcome to this officer as the diabolical secret of Exili, 
which put into his hands the means of destroying all 
his enemies. He became the devoted scholar of this 
Italian, and equalled his master so soon, that on leaving 
the Bastile, he was fully qualified to prosecute his art 
alone. 

The Marchioness de Brinvillier was a woman of little 
principle, and under the tuition of St. Croix, became 
fit for any thing. He persuaded her successively to 
poison her father, with whom she lived, and that even 
while in the act of nursing him with pretended kind- 
ness ; afterwards her two brothers, and lastly her sister 
— the father from revenge, the others to inherit their 
riches. 

The history of several persons who have been guilty 
of poisoning their fellow-creatures, convinces us of this 
horrid truth, that when the mind is once habituated to 
the idea, it becomes a powerful and irresistible passion. 
Without any ulterior object, but merely from a pleasure 
similar to that which the chemist enjoys when making 
experiments, have these miscreants poisoned persons 
whose existence or destruction was perfectly indifferent 
to them. The sudden death of several poor persons in 
the Hotel-Dieu, created afterwards suspicions that the 
bread which Brinvillier was accustomed to distribute 
weekly at that hospital, for the purpose of being regard- 



14 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

ed as a pattern of charity and piety, had heen poisoned. 
It is however true, that the pigeon pies which she pre- 
sented to some guests whom she had invited to her 
house, were mixed with a deadly drug. The Cheva- 
lier de Guet and several others were the victims of this 
diabolical entertainment. 

For a long time St. Croix, his companion La Chaus- 
see and Brinvillier, were successful in impenetrably 
veiling these nefarious and diabolical deeds from justice 
and the world ; but what can the cunning and artful- 
ness of even the most unprincipled accomplish, if heaven 
decrees that such crimes shall be judged on earth ? 

The poison which St. Croix prepared was so fine, 
that if the powder (poudre de succession as it was called 
by the Parisians,) lay open during preparation, a single 
inhalation of it was sufficient to cause instant death. 
St. Croix, therefore, during his operations made always 
use of a fine glass masque. But it happened one day, 
just as he had completed the preparation and was about 
to put it into a phial, that this masque fell off, and hav- 
ing thus inhaled some of the finer particles of the poison 
he fell down dead upon the spot. As he died without 
heirs, the Government officers soon hastened to his 
house to attach their seals to what was left. There 
they found locked up in a chest, not only the whole 
diabolical arsenal of poisonous utensils which had been 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 15 

used by the vile St. Croix, but also the letters of 
Brinvillier, which left no doubt of her infamous tran- 
sactions. She instantly fled to a nunnery in Liittich, 
and hither Desgrais the Lieutenant of Police was dis- 
patched after her. Disguised as a priest he arrived 
and was admitted into the nunnery where she was con- 
cealed ; and having commenced a love affair with this 
abominable woman, he succeeded, without much per- 
suasion in inducing her to make a secret rendezvous 
with him in a solitary garden out of the town. Scarcely 
was she arrived there, before she found herself sur- 
rounded by the assistants of Desgrais, who, changing 
his priestly appearance and passionate deportment into 
that of the Lieutenant of Police, forced her to step into 
the carriage which stood ready at the garden gate, and 
guarded by a party of the gens d'arrnerie proceeded 
directly to Paris. 

La Chausee sometime previous to this had been be- 
headed, and Brinvillier suffered the same death, her 
body after execution being burned, and its ashes dis- 
persed in the air. — But for a short period did the Pari- 
sians rejoice that this dreadful band of miscreants was 
out of the world, — a band which could direct without 
detection in the family circle its murderous weapons 
against both friend and foe, for it was soon discovered 
that the art of the villanous St. Croix had found heirs. 



16 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

Like an invisible malicious spirit, death slipt into the 
closest circles, that acquaintanceship, love and friend- 
ship produce, and there seized surely and quickly 
the unfortunate victim. He, whom we saw to-day 
in blooming health, tottered on the morrow sick 
and languishing, and no art of the Physician could 
save him from the grave. Wealth — a profitable em- 
ployment — a beautiful, perhaps a too youthful wife, 
were sure to attract the deadly draught. Frightful sus- 
picion severed the most sacred ties. The husband 
trembled before his wife — the father before his son — 
the sister before her brother. The meal remained un- 
touched, — the wine which one friend offered to another 
stood untasted on the board, and where formerly gaiety 
and wit resounded, bewildered and anxious looks tried 
to discover the hidden poison. 

The fathers of families purchased the means of then- 
subsistence far from their homes, and got it dressed in 
this and that dirty cook-shop, fearing treason even in 
their own houses. And yet frequently the greatest 
caution was without avail. 

The king to put a stop to the evil which was 
daily becoming more and more alarming, appointed a 
particular court, to which he committed entirely the 
discovery and punishment of those secret crimes. This 
court was the well known Chambre Ardente which 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 1/ 

held its sittings under the Bastile, and over which La 
Regnie reigned as president. 

The labours of La Regnie with whatever zeal they 
might have been conducted, would have remained 
however much longer fruitless than they did, had it not 
been left to the artful Desgrais to discover the secret 
corner where these frightful crimes were concocted. 

In the Faubourg St. Germain there lived an old wo- 
man called La Voisin, whose profession it was to tell 
fortunes and to raise spirits, and who, with the assis- 
tance of her associates Le Sage and Le Vigoreux, un- 
derstood the mode of astonishing and terrifying per- 
sons who were neither weak nor credulous. But she 
understood more than this. The disciple of Exili, 
she manufactured like St. Croix the fine and tasteless 
poison, and assisted by its means profligate sons to an 
earlier inheritance, and unprincipled wives to younger 
husbands. Desgrais however discovered her secret 
operations, she confessed every thing, and the Chambre 
Ardente doomed her to the stake for crimes which she 
soon expiated upon the Place de Greve. A list of all the 
persons who had requested her assistance was found in 
her possession, and it so happened, that not only exe- 
cution followed upon execution, but serious suspicion 
fell even upon individuals of the highest rank. 

It was currently believed that Cardinal Bonzy, by 



18 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

means of La Voisin had found out a way to shorten the 
r existence of all those persons whom he as Archbishop 
"of Narbonne was obliged to pay pensions to. The 
Duchess de Bouillon and the Countess de Soissons, 
whose names were found in the list, were also accused 
of being connected with the secret machinations of this 
diabolical woman; and even Francis Henry de Mont- 
morenci, Duke and Marshall of the kingdom, was not 
spared. The frightful Chambre Ardente prosecuted 
him, and although he presented himself instantly at 
the prison of the Bastile to answer to the allegations 
preferred against him, the hatred of Louvois and La 
Regnie caused him to be shut up in a dungeon not 
exceeding six feet in length. Months passed before 
those ministers of justice were forced to acknowledge 
that the crime of the Duke deserved no punishment. 
He had merely had the weakness to apply to Le Sage 
to have his horoscope cast. 

It is but too true that blind zeal misled the President 
La Regnie into violence and cruelty. The tribunal 
assumed the character of the Inquisition, — the slightest 
suspicion and the most trivial delinquency led to im- 
mediate and close imprisonment, and it but too often 
happened that the innocence of persons which had been 
condemned to death, was by the merest accident dis- 
covered in time to save them from the scaffold. Be- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 19 

sides this La Regnie had such a disgusting countenance 
and such a deceitful look, that he brought upon himself 
the hatred even of those whom he was called to protect 
or avenge. The Duchess de Bouillon being asked by 
him on her trial, whether she had seen the devil, 
replied, "Methinks I see him now!" 



CHAPTER HI. 



The trembling stars 
See crimes gigantic, stalking through the gloom 
With front erect, that hide their head by day, 
And making night still darker by their deeds. 
Slumbering in covert, till the shades descend, 
Rapine and Murder, link'd, now prowl for prey. 

Young, 



While the blood of the guilty and of the suspected 
flowed in streams upon the Place de Greve, a calam- 
ity of another kind appeared which created new con- 
sternation throughout the city. A band of thieves 
seemed to have determined on getting possession of all 
the valuable jewels in the capital. The rich ornament 
was scarcely purchased, before it disappeared, and by 
means too that were imperceptible. But it was still 
more dreadful, that every one who ventured to wear 
any costly gem in the evening upon the streets or in the 
dark passages that led to their houses were sure of 
being robbed, perhaps of being murdered. 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 21 

The story of those who escaped with their lives 
was; that they were knocked down with a blow upon 
the head as if by a stroke of lightening, and on recov- 
ering from their stupefaction they always found them- 
selves robbed of their jewels, and never at the spot 
where they had been attacked. The murdered, who 
were found almost every morning in the streets or in the 
entrances to houses, had all a similar wound ; a dagger 
had been thrust through their heart, and according to 
the opinion of physicians this had been done so quickly 
and so surely that the murdered person must have fal- 
len to the ground without the power of crying for assis- 
tance, nay of even emitting the least sound. 

Who was there at the gay court of Louis XIV. 
entangled as they all were, in the silken chains of 
some love intrigue, that did not slip out after sunset 
to the abode of his mistress carrying with him some 
rich present for her who at the moment monopoliz- 
ed all his affections? But just as if the thieves 
had been in league with foretelling spirits, it ap- 
peared they exactly knew when such a thing would 
happen. Frequently the unfortunate victim of their 
rapacity never reached the house where he had hoped 
to enjoy an hour of love and gossip, — often he fell at 
the threshold and even at the very chamber door of her 
^vhose eye longing to meet the smiling countenance of 



22 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

her fond admirer was often the first to be startled by 
the ghastly appearance of his bloody corpse. 

In vain did Argenson the minister of Police cause 
every one to be arrested who appeared to be in any 
way the object of suspicion; in vain did La Regnie 
rage and endeavour to extort confessions; — in vain 
were watchmen and patroles augmented — no trace of 
the perpetrators could be discovered. The caution 
of arming oneself to the teeth and being accom- 
panied by a servant with a lantern was perhaps the on- 
ly security against attack, but still there were exam- 
ples of persons, whose servants being terrified by 
a shower of stones, were murdered and robbed during 
the temporary panic. 

It was remarkable that notwithstanding the enqui- 
ries and searches that were made at every place where 
jewellery was bought and sold, not the most minute 
portion of any of the tiinkets that had been stolen was 
to be found, and thus even here where there was the 
strongest hopes of finding a clue that might lead to the 
detection of the robbers, not even a vestige was discov- 
ered that could clear up the horrid mystery. 

Desgrais foamed with rage that the thieves were thus 
so long able to elude his snares. The quarter of the 
city wherever he happened to be present always re- 
mained undisturbed; while in the other quarters of the 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 23 

capital where no one suspected any danger, the assassin 
was sure to seek out his wealthy victims. 

The Lieutenant of Police thought upon the snare of 
creating several Desgrais, so similar in walk, appear- 
ance, speech, figure, and countenance, that even the 
gens d'armes themselves should not be able to discover 
the real one. In the meantime he secretly watched, 
and at the risk of his own life did he follow alone even 
into the most obscure corners of the city, this or that 
person, who by his orders wore a rich and valuable or- 
nament. The person was never attacked; — of this 
measure also it appeared that the thieves were aware. 
The zealous but outwitted Lieutenant was in despair. 

One morning Desgrais came to La Regnie, pale, 
confused, and agitated. 

" What news? Have you discovered any trace ?" 
exclaimed the President, in hasty agitation. 

" Ah noble Sir 1" began Desgrais, stammering with 
rage, " noble Sir, yesterday night the Marquis de la 
Fare was attacked in my presence and in the neigh- 
bourhood of the Louvre too." 

" Heaven and Earth !" shouted La Regnie for joy, — 
" now we have them !" 

" Listen but a moment," interrupted the Lieutenant 
with a bitter smile, " listen but a moment to what has 
really happened — I stood at the Louvre in watchful 



24 MADAME DE SCUDERT. 

anxiety ; rage burned in my bosom against those who 
were thus making game of me; a figure approached 
apparently under the influence of some dreaded fear, 
went close past me, but evidently without perceiving 
me. In the moonbeams I discovered the figure to be 
that of the Marquis de la Fare. I could easily account 
for his presence there at that hour as I knew he usual- 
ly slept in that neighbourhood. He had scarcely pro- 
ceeded ten or twelve paces from the dark spot I 
occupied when a figure sprang up as if from the 
ground, knocked him down, and fell upon him. Sur- 
prised at the circumstance that could deliver into my 
hand the murderer, I inconsiderately gave a loud cry 
and endeavoured by a leap from my secret corner to 
pounce upon him at once ; but in the act of making the 
exertion I got entangled in my cloak, and fell head- 
long upon the pavement. When I recovered my feet 
I beheld the man hastening away as if on the wings of 
the wind; I sounded my horn and pursued him, — from 
a distance the whistle of the gens d'armes answers my 
call, — all is alive, — every one in motion, — the clash of 
arms, the trampling of horses, is heard on every side, 
— this way, this way, — Desgrais, Desgrais, cried I, so 
loud as to be echoed back from every street." 

" In the light of the moon I saw the man always 
before me, turning here, there, nay in every direction, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 25 

in order to confuse me — at length we came into the 
Rue de Nicaise, and here his strength seemed to fail 
him — I redoubled my efforts — there were but fifteen 
steps betwixt us. — " 

" You came up with him — you seized him — the gens 
d'armes were near—" cried Regnie, with eyes of fire, 
laying hold of the arm of Desgrais as if he were the 
flying murderer. 

" But fifteen steps," continued the Lieutenant, in a 
hollow and perturbed yoice, " were betwixt us when 
the man sprang aside into the shade, and disappeared 
through a wall." 

" Disappeared through a wall! Are you raving," 
cried the President, stepping back several paces, and 
clasping his hands together. 

" Call me," replied Desgrais, pressing his hand upon 
his forehead, " Call me one whose mind is troubled 
with strange and idle fancies ; call me, noble Sir, a mad- 
man, a lunatic, a foolish believer in spirits, but it is just 
as I have told you. — Motionless I stood before the wall, 
while several of the police breathlessly approached, 
along with them the Marquis de la Fare, who having 
recovered from his blow appeared with a drawn sword 
in his hand ; — the torches were kindled, the wall was 
examined backwards and forwards, but no trace of a 

door, — of a window, — of any opening whatsoever was 
D 



26 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

to be found. The wall is built of stone and connects 
two houses in which several persons reside; but 
against whom not the least suspicion could be brought. 
To-day I have again examined every thing minutely. — 
It must be the devil himself that is plaguing us !" 

The story of Desgrais was soon known over the 
whole of Paris, and the heads of all were filled with 
enchantments, incantations, and the devil's bonds with 
La Voisin, Vigoreux, and the ill-famed priest, Le Sage. 
In the human mind there seems to be such an inherent 
inclination for supernatural things and wonderful 
events, as often masters our better reason, hence what 
Desgrais had only said in disappointed rage, " that the 
devil protected those that sell their souls," became the 
firm belief of almost every one in the capital. It can 
easily be imagined that the Lieutenant's narrative re- 
ceived several odd and marvellous additions. The 
story of his adventure (with a wood-cut on the top of 
it, representing a most frightful figure of the devil sink- 
ing into the ground before the eyes of the terrified 
Desgrais), was printed and sold in every corner of the 
city. In short, the people were so completely terrifi- 
ed, and the police so deprived of courage, that they 
wandered during the night, with trembling and fearful 
steps through the streets, covered with amulets and 
soaked with holy water. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 27 

Argenson the minister of police, saw the efforts of 
the Chambre Ardente, shipwrecked, and begged of the 
king to appoint a Court which with more extensive 
powers might pursue and punish the perpetrators of 
this new crime. 

The king convinced that he had given already too 
much power to the Chambre Ardente, and deeply re- 
gretting the cruelty of the innumerable executions 
which the blood-thirsty Regnie had caused, would not 
listen to the proposal. 

Another mode was then chosen to induce the king 
to grant this petition. In the apartments of Madame 
de Maintenon where his majesty was in the habit of 
spending the afternoon, and even there transacting 
business with his ministers till midnight, a poem was 
put into his hands in the name of the threatened and 
terrified lovers, complaining that when gallantry required 
them to carry a valuable present to the mistress of their 
affections, they had to do so at the imminent risk of 
their lives. Honour and pleasure required them no 
doubt, to shed their blood chivalrously for their beloved, 
but the circumstances were different with the base at- 
tack of an assassin against whom they could not arm 
themselves. They trusted therefore that Louis, the 
shining polestar of all love and gallantry, would with 
his pure beams dispel the gloomy cloud that hung ovef 



28 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

them, and discover the impenetrable secret which it con- 
cealed. The godlike hero that could crush his fiercest 
foes, was now implored to draw his shining sword of 
victory, and as Hercules overcame the Serpent, and 
Theseus the Minotaur, so it was believed that he 
would destroy the horrid and mysterious power which 
threatened to annihilate all love; and which not con- 
tent with changing innocent pleasure into deep sorrow, 
but too frequently cloathed its worshippers in the weeds 
of despair. 

Serious though the matter was, the poem was not 
deficient in witty and amusing turns, particularly in the 
description of the anxious lover slipping out on tiptoe 
to the abode of his mistress, and how the fearful anx- 
iety which he experienced extinguished every thing 
like love, and nipt in the bud every scene of gay gal- 
lantry. Besides all this there was, towards the conclu- 
sion of the poem, a high panegyric on Louis XIV., and 
the king therefore could not fail to peruse the whole 
with visible pleasure. After having read it over, but 
without moving his eyes from the paper, he abruptly 
turned to Madame de Maintenon, read the poem over 
again in a loud voice and asked with a pleasing smile, 
what she thought of the request of the danger-threa- 
tened lovers. 

Madame de Maintenon replied, 4< That such secret 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 29 

proceedings were unworthy of any particular protec- 
tion, but still the blood-thirsty and rapacious criminals 
were well deserving of particular measures being used 
for their detection and punishment." 

The king, dissatisfied with this answer, closed the 
paper and seemed intent on returning to the secretary 
of state, who was employed in an adjoining chamber, 
when his eye fell upon that of De Scuderi, who at that 
moment had taken a seat upon a small sopha near 
Madame de Maintenon; on seeing her he instantly 
stopped. The pleasing smile which had been playing 
upon his mouth and cheek, but which had disappeared, 
regained its masteiy, and standing right before her 
ladyship he again opened the poem, saying in a mild 
voice, " The Marchioness would now know nothing of 
the gallantries of our beloved lieges, and avoids my 
questions in a manner which was not looked for; but 
what does your ladyship think of this poetical peti- 
tion ?" 

De Scuderi rose respectfully from the sopha, a fleet- 
ing colour like the ruddy glow of evening overspread 
her pale and aged cheek, while she said with a slight 
inclination of the head and with downcast eye: 

" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
N'est point digne d'amour." 

The king astonished at the chivalrous spirit of these 



30 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

few words, which gave a death-blow to the whole 
poem, exclaimed with sparkling eyes, " By the holy 
Dionysius ! your ladyship is right ; no blind laws which 
may strike against the innocent as well as the guilty 
shall infringe upon freedom, — Argenson and La Regnie 
may do their best." 



CHAPTER IV. 



Oh thou sweet sparkler! 
Thou more than stone of the Philosopher ! 
Thou touch stone of Philosophy itself ! 
Thou hright eye of the mine ! Thou loadstar 
Of the soul ! The true magnetic pole to which 
All hearts point duly north like trembling needles ! 
Thou naming spirit of the Earth ! which sitting 
High on the Monarch's diadem attractest 
More worship than the Majesty who sweats 
Beneath the crown which makes his headache, like 
Millions of hearts which bleed to lend it lustre ! 

Shalt thou be mine ? 

Byron s Werner. 



Maria, whose mind was full of all the horrors of the 
period, gave full scope to her imagination as she de- 
scribed to her mistress on the morrow what had hap- 
pened during the past night, and when with a trembling 
and anxious hand she presented the mysterious casket. 
— The maid, as well as Baptiste who stood deadly- 
pale in the corner of the apartment, twisting his 
night-cap into a thousand different forms, and scarcely 



32 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

able to speak for anxiety and agitation, implored her 
ladyship for the sake of all the saints to open the casket 
with circumspection. Madame de Scuderi balancing 
the hidden mystery in her hand, and looking towards 
the.two domestics who were pale as spectres, said with 
a smile, " That I am not rich, and have no purse wor- 
thy of murder, the robbers are well aware, who as 
you have said spy into the interior of every house, and 
must know that as well as either you or I. For what 
would they aim at my life? — Who would dream of 
killing a person of seventy three years of age, who 
never persecuted any one except the wretches which 
she herself created in her own Romances, — who has 
made some indifferent verses which could excite no 
man's envy, and who can leave nothing behind her save 
the rank of an old lady who went occasionally to court, 
and a few dozen well bound books with gilt edges ! — 
And thou Maria may'st picture the man in as frightful 
colours as thou wilt, but still I cannot believe he bore 
me any evil intention, therefore I shall see what this 
contains." 

Maria started back several paces, and Baptiste with 
a deep sigh sank half down upon his knee as their 
mistress pressed her thumb upon the projecting steel 
knob of the casket, and its lid sprang up with a rustling 
noise. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 33 

How confounded indeed was Madame de Scuderi 
when a pair of gold armlets richly studded with pre- 
cious stones, and also a necklace alike splendid sparkled 
before her eyes in the open casket. She took the 
jewels out, and while she praised the wonderful work 
of the necklace, Maria eyed the rich armlets and ex- 
claimed repeatedly, " that the proud Montespan herself 
did not possess such ornaments." 

" But what does all this mean? — what does it be- 
token?" said de Scuderi, and casting her eye to the 
bottom of the casket, she observed a small folded paper 
which she confidently hoped would unravel the mystery. 
She opened it, but had scarcely read its contents 
when it fell from her trembling hands, and throwing 
an imploring look to heaven she sank back upon the 
sofa apparently under the influence of great mental agi- 
tation. Maria and Baptiste still dreaming of hidden 
dangers sprang forward to discover the cause of their 
mistress' distress — " Oh !" cried de Scuderi, with a 
voice wherein sobs half choked her utterance, " Oh the 
mortification ! The deep shame. Was I then doomed 
to suffer this in my old age? Have I, like a young 
and unthinking girl treated the matter with a foolish 
carelessness? Oh God! are words half uttered in jest 
capable of such frightful interpretation? Has heaven 
then permitted that I who have been always true to 



34 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

virtue and piety from my childhood should be proved 
to have connection with the crimes of a diabolical con- 
federacy ?" 

While de Scuderi uttered there words she held a 
handkerchief before her eyes which were pouring forth 
a flood of bitter tears, and Maria and Baptiste were in 
a state of perplexity to know how they could alleviate 
the sorrow of their worthy mistress, Maria in the 
meantime picked up from the floor the fatal paper upon 
which was written: 

" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
N'est point digne d'ampur." 

" Your acute mind most noble lady has saved from 
great persecution us who practice the right of the 
strong upon the weak and cowardly, and appropriate to 
ourselves those valuables that are about to be bestowed 
on others more unworthy of them. As a token of our 
gratitude accept of these ornaments ; though they are 
the most valuable which we for a long time have fallen 
in with, yet you most worthy lady are justly entitled 
to be invested with gems even still more beautiful than 
those now sent. We beg that you will however accept 
them, and trust you will not refuse us yourfriendship 
and affectionate remembrances. 

THE invisible: 7 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 35 

" Is it possible," cried de Scuderi when she had 
somewhat recovered, " Is it possible that any one can 
cany his shameless temerity, his villanous outrage so 
far?" The sun at this moment shone bright through 
the window curtains of crimson silk, and it so happened 
that the diamonds which lay upon the table near the 
open casket sent forth a sparkling ruddy light. Avert- 
ing her eyes from the gems, de Scuderi hid a counte- 
nance in which horror was strongly pourtrayed, and 
ordered Maria to carry away instantly those frightful 
ornaments which the blood of the murdered still 
stained. 

Maria after locking up the necklace and armlets, pro- 
posed to deliver up the jewels to the Minister of Police, 
and to confide to him every thing relative to the agi- 
tated appearance of the young man, and the peculiar 
circumstances attending the delivery of the casket. 

De Scuderi rose, walked silently up and down the 
room, like one considering deeply what ought to be 
done. She then ordered Baptiste to bring a sedan- 
chair, and at the same time requested Maria to arrange 
her dress, as she wished to go immediately to Madame 
de Maintenon. 

The necessary arrangements made, de Scuderi pro- 
ceeded to pay her visit to the Marchioness, and arrived 
at her residence at an hour when she knew she was 



36 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

always to be found alone in her own apartment, not 
forgetting to take the casket of jewels along with her. 

It may be easily imagined that Madame de Mainte- 
non was greatly surprised when she saw de Scuderi, 
usually so full of dignity and grace, notwithstanding 
her advanced years, enter her apartment pale, distract- 
ed, and with a trembling step. 

" By all the saints," cried she to the poor terror- 
struck lady, as she almost breathless and hardly able to 
stand attempted to reach the arm chair which the Mar- 
chioness moved towards her, " By all the saints what 
has happened?" 

De Scuderi having at length recovered her speech, 
mentioned what had occurred, and bewailed in terms of 
poignant regret the horrible consequences of the incon- 
siderate jest with which she had answered the petition 
of the danger-threatened lovers. 

De Maintenon after having heard every circumstance 
declared that she considered de Scuderi had taken 
this strange phenomenon too much to heart, that this 
daring outrage of the villanous band could never injure 
such a pious lady as herself, — and desired to see the 
ornaments. 

De Scuderi placed in her hands the open casket, and 
the Marchioness could not contain a loud exclamation 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 37 

of astonishment, as the costly jewels sparkled before 
her. 

She took out the necklace and the armlets, and ap- 
proached the window, where she allowed the sun's rays 
to fall upon the gems, and then examined narrowly the 
exquisite workmanship of the setting, to form a correct 
idea of the wonderful art with which each particular 
and minute link of the chain was finished. 

After a few moments' examination, Madame de 
Maintenon turned round towards de Scuderi and ex- 
claimed, " Of a certainty, there is but one individual 
that can make such ornaments, — no person save Rene 
Cardillac could finish such a necklace and such armlets." 



CHAPTER V. 



He was a man, take him for all in all, 
I shall not look upon his like again. 

Shakespeare. 



Rene Cardillac was at that time the most skilful 
goldsmith in Paris, and was likewise one of the most 
singular men of his age. In figure he was rather short 
than tall, broadshouldered, and of a strong muscular 
form, and although nearly sixty years had rolled over 
his head, he still possessed the strength and agility 
of youth. The former indeed was abundantly conspi- 
cuous in the thick curly red hair that encircled his full 
and ruddy countenance. If Cardillac, however, had not 
been known throughout all Paris for a just, honourable, 
and disinterested man ; ever ready to lend his assis- 
tance to the distressed, the very sinister expression 
which lurked in his small, hollow, green piercing eyes, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 39 

would have doubtless brought down upon him suspi- 
cion of secret and mysterious knavery. 

Cardillac was at that time as has been said, not only 
the most skilful workman in Paris but likewise through- 
out the whole world. Intimately acquainted with the 
nature of precious stones, he knew so well the art of 
treating and setting them, that the ornament which at 
first was considered of little beauty, issued from his 
workshop possessed of the most dazzling splendour. 
Every commission he undertook with ardour, and de- 
manded a price which many considered by no means 
equivalent to the value of the work. He was so eager 
in his labours that he was heard hammering in his 
workshop day and night, and often when the trinket 
was almost finished, he all at once would become dis- 
pleased with its form, with the setting of some gem, 
or with the taste of some small link, and would throw 
the whole of his labour into the crucible, and begin it 
anew. Thus every thing he finished was a masterpiece 
of art, and always filled its owner with delight and as- 
tonishment. It was now, however, hardly possible to 
obtain from him any thing that was given him to finish. 
With a thousand excuses he amused the owners from 
week to week, and from month to month. In vain he 
was offered double price for his labour, not one Louis 
d'or more would he take than the stipulated sum. 



40 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

And when forced at last by urgent entreaties to deliver 
up the ornament, he could not conceal signs of the 
deep vexation, nay of the inward rage which boiled 
within him. In the event of parting with an ornament 
perhaps worth several thousand livres, either from the 
costliness of the gems or the particularly well executed 
nature of the setting and goldwork, he appeared con- 
tinually like a person out of his senses ; he neglected 
his work and was seen running up and down cursing 
himself, his labour, and all the world. But no sooner 
did any one approach him and call loudly, " Rene Car- 
dillac, would you be inclined to make a beautiful neek- 
lace for my bride, armlets for my sweetheart? &c." than 
he stopped at once, glanced with his small piercing 
eyes at the person who addressed him, and asked, while 
rubbing his hands, " What do you want?" 

The lover pulls out a small box saying, " Here are 
some jewels, they are no great things, — common stuff, 
but under your hands." — 

Cardillac interrupts his speech, snatches the box from 
his hold, pulls the jewels out, which are apparently of 
no great value, holds them up to the light, and cries out 
with enthusiasm, " Ha! ha !— common stuff? By no 
means, — beautiful stones ! noble gems ! — Leave them 
only to me, and if you don't grudge a handful of Louis 
d'ors, I shall add some gems besides, and make an or- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 41 

nament that shall sparkle in your eyes as bright as the 
sun himself!" 

To this the person replies, " I leave it entirely to 
yourself, Master Rene, and will pay willingly what- 
ever you demand." 

Without any discrimination whether the person be a 
rich citizen or a nobleman of the Court, Cardillac 
throws his arms about his neck and pressing him pas- 
sionately to his breast exclaims that he is once more 
happy, and that in the course of a week the work 
will be ready. — He runs to his" house, enters his 
workshop, and hammers on incessantly for eight days, 
when a masterpiece is completed. But when the 
owner returns to pay the stipulated sum and requests 
to have the finished ornament, Cardillac becomes sul- 
len, stubborn, and impertinent. 

" But Master Cardillac, consider, to-morrow is my 
marriage day." 

" What does your marriage signify to me? — Call 
back in a fortnight." 

" The ornament is ready, — here is the money, — J 
must have it." 

" I tell you, I have still to alter many things about 
it, and will not give it to you to-day." 

" And I tell you, that if you will not give the orna- 
ment to me, which I will most willingly pay double 
F 



42 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

price for, by fair means, you shall soon see me return, 
accompanied by Argensons officers of police." 

" May the Devil torment you with a hundred burn- 
ing pinches, and hang three-hundred weight by this 
self-same necklace, that your bride may be strangled 
withal." 

Saying so, Cardillac thrusts the jewels into the 
breast-pocket of the bridegroom, seizes him by the 
arm, and turns him out of the room-door. 

Besides all this it was altogether unaccountable why 
Cardillac frequently after having undertaken a work 
with the greatest enthusiasm, almost immediately after 
beseeched his employer, not only by the holy virgin 
and all the saints, but likewise with tokens of the 
greatest internal agitation and the most frightful oaths, 
sometimes even with sobs and tears to be permitted to 
give up the work which he had consented to finish. 

Many persons of the Court and of the highest rank 
among the people, had in vain offered large sums to 
have only the smallest specimen of Cardillac's handy- 
work. He threw himself at the king's feet and implor- 
ed the favour not to be asked to do any work for him. 
He refused also every order of Madame de Maintenon, 
and even rejected with scorn and horror the offer she 
made to him of finishing for her an emblematical ring 
which she had purposed presenting to Racine. 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 43 

« I wager," said de Maintenon, " I wager that Car- 
dillac although I send to him merely to discover for 
whom he made these ornaments will refuse to attend 
my summons in the fear of being pestered with an or- 
der, for you must know he still positively refuses exe- 
cuting any thing for me. He has given up however, 
for some time I believe, his stubbornness and caprice, and 
at present labours even more diligently than formerly, 
and delivers up too his finished works at once, although 
still with apparently deep displeasure and an averted 
countenance." 

De Scuderi considering that it would be a most im- 
portant matter gained provided the ornaments by any 
means whatever, could be put into the possession of 
their rightful owner, thought, that the person sent to 
this strange individual, should be instructed to say that 
none of his works were required, but merely his opin- 
ion concerning some jewels. This was approved of by 
de Maintenon, and Cardillac was sent for accordingly, 
and being met by accident upon the street, it was not 
long before he entered the apartment. 

No sooner did he discover Madame de Scuderi than 
his countenance gave tokens of great agitation; he 
looked^like one that was struck by some most unexpect- 
ed occurrence, for he forgot the claims which were at 
that moment due to rank, having in the first place 



44 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

made a low and respectful obeisance to the worthy de 
Seuderi, and then merely turned round to the March- 
ioness. The latter then hastily asked him, while point- 
ing to the ornaments which sparkled on the dark green- 
covered table, whether these were his work. 

Cardillac scarcely threw a glance upon them but 
packed them up carefully in the open casket, and while 
the Marchioness was staring him full in the face, he 
pushed them away from him with considerable warmth, 
saying, as a contemptuous smile flitted across his lip, 
" Most noble lady, one must know very little indeed 
about the works of Rene Cardillac not to see after a 
moments observation that no other goldsmith in the 
world could finish such jewels, — indeed they are my 
handy work." 

" Then tell me," continued de Maintenon, " for 
whom were these jewels made?" 

" For myself," replied Cardillac, — " yes, you may 
consider it strange," continued he, while de Maintenon 
and de Seuderi both looked at him with eyes of won- 
der, the former full of unbelief, the latter full of anxious 
expectation how the matter would end; " Yes you may 
consider it strange but it is even so. To make a 
beautiful piece of work I sought out the best gems in 
my possession, and I laboured upon them with a dili- 
gence, a care, and an enthusiasm that I never felt be* 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 45 

fore; but sometime ago these ornaments disappeared 
from my workshop in a way quite unaccountable." 

"Heaven be praised!" cried de Scuderi, her eyes 
sparkling with joy and springing up from her chair 
with the life and agility of a girl, she approached Car- 
dillac, and unceremoniously laid her hand upon his 
shoulder. " Receive," said she, " receive back again, 
Master Rene, the property which villains have robbed 
you of." 

She then related circumstantially how the ornaments 
had come into her possession. Cardillac listened in 
silence with eyes that seemed riveted to the ground oc- 
casionally giving a peculiar hem, or the exclamation 
of " So, So." When de Scuderi had concluded her 
story it seemed as if Rene's mind was struggling with 
thoughts which prevented him coming to any deter- 
mination. He rubbed his brow, sighed, and drew his 
hand across his eyes as if to wipe off a starting tear. 

At length he seized the casket which de Scuderi was 
presenting to him, dropped slowly upon his knee, and 
said: " On you most worthy Lady has Fate be- 
stowed these jewels, — yes, now I remember that while 
I laboured upon them I thought of you, yea for you I 
laboured. Refuse not to take these ornaments from 
me and to wear them, they are the best I have made 
for a loner time." 



46 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

" Aye ! Aye !" answered de Scuderi jocularly — 
" are you dreaming Master Rene? would it really be- 
come me do you think at my years to deck myself out 
with precious stones — Why present me with such a 
splendid gift ? Go ! go ! Master Rene, were I as lovely 
and rich as the Marchioness de Fontange I would not 
indeed let such ornaments slip from my hands, but what 
have these emaciated arms to do with vain splendour — 
what has this veiled neck to do with sparkling bril- 
liants?" 

In the meantime Cardillac had risen from his kneel- 
ing posture, and with an agitated and bewildered look 
said ; as he pushed away the casket which de Scuderi 
was offering him: " Take pity on me and accept the 
jewels. You cannot conceive how profound a respect 
I entertain in my heart for your virtues, for your great 
services ! — Accept then this trifling present only for the 
toil it cost me and as a token of the warm affection I 
feel at this moment for you." 

Seeing that de Scuderi still hesitated to accept the 
proffered gift, — de Maintenon took the casket from 
Cardillac's hands, saying: " Now de Scuderi you al- 
ways talk of your great age, but really what have either 
you or I to trouble ourselves about years and their bur- 
then? and do you not behave like some young silly 
girl who would willingly accept of proffered fruit could 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 47 

it only be obtained without hands and fingers? — Re- 
fuse not to receive from the chivalrous Master Rene 
as a freely offered present, that which thousands could 
not obtain for gold or for prayers." 

In the meantime Madame de Maintenon pressed the 
casket upon de Scuderi, and Cardillac threw himself a- 
gain on his knees before her, kissed her gown, and her 
hands — stammered — sighed — wept — sobbed — sprang 
up and ran like a madman from the apartment. 

Filled with terror and amazement de Scuderi ex- 
claimed: " By all the holy saints what has befallen 
the man?" 

The Marchioness in a gay and witty humour, al- 
though altogether free from impertinence, gave a loud 
laugh saying: " It is quite evident Madame, that 
Master Rene Cardillac is dying with love for you, and 
begins according to the approved methods of ancient 
gallantry to storm your heart with valuable pre- 
sents." 

De Maintenon carried the jest still farther, while she 
exhorted de Scuderi not to be too cruel to her despair- 
ing lover and the latter giving way to her accustomed 
gaiety was carried away by the stream of a thousand 
fanciful circumstances; among the rest she thought that 
if the matter was as De Maintenon imagined, it would 
be almost impossible for her when married, to set before 



4& MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

the world the unheard of example of irreproachable hon- 
our in an old Goldsmith's wife of seventy three years of 
age! 

De Maintenon requested to plait for her the bridal 
crown, and to instruct her in the duties of a good and 
careful housewife, that she might be prevented from 
receiving the slightest rub from the world. 

When at length de Scuderi rose to leave the Mar- 
chioness, her countenance notwithstanding all their jes- 
ting assumed a very serious look, especially when she 
took the casket of jewels in her hands and said: " Not- 
withstanding all you say Madame de Maintenon I shall 
never be able to make any use of these ornaments. — 
They have been by whatever means recovered, once in 
the possession of that hellish confederacy, which with 
the boldness of the Devil or rather in league with him, 
rob and murder. I shudder at the blood which seems 
still to cleave to the sparkling gems; — and then too 
Cardillac's behaviour. I must confess it appeared to me 
extremely odd and unnaturally anxious. Nor can I get 
rid of a dark presentiment, that behind all this, there is 
a frightful secret concealed, and yet too when I bring 
the whole matter distinctly and circumstantially before 
me, I cannot very well perceive wherein any secret can 
be concealed, and particularly what the worthy Master 
Rene, the very model of a good and pious citizen should 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 49 

have to do with any thing that is bad and villanous. 
However it is very certain I shall never be able to bring 
myself to wear these ornaments." 

Madame de Maintenon thought that de Scuderi car- 
ried her scruples too far, especially when on asking her 
what in her conscience she would really do? was an- 
swered firmly and seriously, that she would rather 
throw the jewels into the Seine than ever wear them. 

Madame de Scuderi made this very singular inter- 
view with Master Rene Cardillac the subject of some 
pleasing verses, which she read the following morning 
to the King in the apartments of de Maintenon. 

It may be easily imagined that de Scuderi at the ex- 
pense of poor Master Rene, and conquering all the ter- 
rors which her secret presentiment had produced upon 
herself, would draw in the liveliest colours a most 
laughable picture of a Goldsmith's bride of seventy three 
years of age and of ancient family. 

It is enough to say his Majesty laughed immoderate- 
ly, and swore by Dionysius that Boileau Despreaux 
had found his master, for the poem of Madame de Scu- 
deri was the wittiest that ever was written. 



CHAPTER VI. 



Who now can shield us from the fury 
That seems upon our steps to hurry? 
Our brow exudes a frozen sweat 
On hearing it. 

List to that scream ! that broken crying ! 
Could not the death-gasp hush that sighing? 
Are these the fruits of prom is' d peace? 
O wretchedness! 

Bowring's Batavian Anthology. 



Several months had elapsed after the foregoing inter- 
view, when one day fate determined that Madame de 
Scuderi should cross the Pont Neuf in the glass-coach 
of the Duchess de Montansier. The invention of neat 
glass coaches was at that period so recent, that the 
curiosity of the people was awakened, and a crowd as 
great was collected around them, as when a quack doc- 
tor's waggon made its appearance. On this occasion also 
it so happened that the gaping multitude surrounded 
the coach of Montansier upon the Pont Neuf, almost 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. ol 

to the complete hemming in of the motion of the 
horses-. At that moment De Scudeii heard a bustle 
and cursing, and observed a man with blows and push- 
ings making his way through the thickest of the crowd 
to the spot where the carriage was impeded, and as 
he approached, the piercing eyes of a youthful coun- 
tenance deadly pale and much agitated with grief at- 
tracted her attention. The young man in fact kept his 
eye firmly fixed upon de Scuderi as he worked himself 
forward to the door of the carriage, which he opened 
with a hurried and agitated hand, — threw a letter into 
her ladyship's lap, and giving and receiving numerous 
blows, disappeared through the crowd as he had come. 
No sooner did the man appear at the carriage door 
than Maria, who was at the side of her mistress, gave a 
cry of horror and fell back in a swoon. In vain did de 
Scuderi pull the cord and call to the coachman ; he, 
as if impelled by some foul spirit, laid the whip to the 
horses, who dashing the foam from their mouths, ca- 
pered, pranced, and at length thundered on at a sharp 
pace across the bridge. 

De Scuderi poured out immediately some strong 
restorative over the brow of the unconscious girl, who 
in a short time opened her eyes, and clinging firmly 
with a trembling hand to her mistress, stammered out, 
with a face wherein anxiety and horror were strongly 



41 MADAME DE SCUDER1. 

depicted. " For the sake of the holy virgin, what did 
that frightful being want? Oh it was he, — it was he, 
who brought you the casket on that fearful night!" 

De Scuderi quieted the poor girl's fears by assuring 
her that nothing bad had yet come out of it, and that 
that could only come from knowing what the letter 
contained ; she tore open the sheet and found these 
words : 

" An evil destiny which you can avert, sinks me 
into the very abyss of misery ! I implore you, as a son 
in the warmest glow of youthful affection would im- 
plore a mother from whom he could conceal nothing, 
to allow the necklace and armlets which you received 
through me to be sent under some pretence, or in any 
other way you may think better, to Master Rene Car- 
dillac; your welfare, your life depends upon it. Let 
not two days elapse before you do so, or else I shall 
force myself into your dwelling and murder myself be- 
fore your eyes !" 

" It is now evident," said de Scuderi when she had 
read the epistle, " that this unknown man but too 
plainly belongs to the band of thieves and murderers 
that infest the city, yet against me he bears nothing 
bad in his mind. Had he been permitted to speak 
with me that night, who knows, how many wonderful 
accidents and how many profound secrets would have 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 53 

been cleared up, of which I now seek in vain for the 
slightest trace in my mind. But such matters must 
now be left to themselves — that which is requested of 
me in this letter I will attend to, were it only to get 
rid of those unhallowed ornaments which methinks are 
the talisman of the devil ! Cardillac shall have them, 
and if true to his old practices will not so easily let 
them slip out of his fingers." 

On the following day even, de Scuderi thought of 
going herself with the ornaments to the old goldsmith ; 
but it so happened that all the beaux esprits of Paris 
had that morning resolved to storm her ladyship with 
verses, plays, and anecdotes. Scarcely had la Chapelle 
finished the scene of a tragedy, and slyly assured 
himself that he had now beat down Racine, when the 
tragic poet himself entered and laid him prostrate with 
a kingly pathetic speech, and remained master of the 
field till Boileau caused his brilliant stars to arise in 
the dark tragic sky, in order to get rid of the eternal 
babble about the collonade of the Louvre which the 
architectural Doctor Perrault was mixing up with the 
conversation. 

It was past mid-day, and de Scuderi being obliged to 
wait upon the Duchess de Montansier, her visit to 
Master Rene Cardillac was necessarily put off till the 
next morning. 



o4 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

De Scuderi felt herself tormented during the night 
with a more than ordinary restlessness. The young 
man who had given her the letter upon the Pont-neuf 
stood continually before her eyes, and from the bottom 
of her heart a reminiscence seemed to rise of her hav- 
ing once seen such a face and such features. Anxious 
dreams disturbed her light slumbers, and it appeared 
to her as if she, thoughtless of the consequences, and 
reckless of censure, had seized with helping power 
the hand which the unhappy wretch, sinking into an 
abyss had stretched out towards her, — nay she thought 
she would have done so even although it should have 
led to the most ruinous of results — the most flagitious 
of crimes. 

She rose early from her restless couch, — ordered 
herself to be dressed, and proceeded, not forgetting the 
casket, to the house of the goldsmith. 

Towards the Rue Nicaise where Cardillac lived, the 
populace were flocking in vast crowds, — they had al- 
ready collected before his house, and were bawling 
and knocking at the door which they doubtless would 
have broken open, had they not been prevented by the 
police who surrounded the house. A thousand angry 
voices in wild and noisy confusion cried out, " Tear 
him in pieces! annihilate the base villain i" 

At length Desgrais appeared with a numerous band 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 55 

which soon cleared the way through the thickest of the 
crowd; the house-door springs open, and a man loaded 
with chains is brought out, and under the most horrific 
imprecations of the enraged populace is dragged along. 

At this very moment de Scuderi arrived, and while 
almost fainting with terror and frightful foreboding at 
the sight, a wild and sorrowful cry struck her ear. 
" Forward! farther forward !" cried she, almost uncon- 
sciously, to the coachman, who by a clever and bold 
turning dashed through the thickest of the crowd and 
and stopped directly in front of the goldsmith's door. 
There, de Scuderi beheld Desgrais, and at his feet a 
young and lovely girl, whose fair and dishevelled hair 
fell upon a bosom, the wild and passionate throbbings 
of which, a simple morning garb could ill conceal, and 
in whose countenance there were only at that moment 
to be seen the marks of fearful anxiety and comfortless 
despair; she convulsively clasped his knees, and cried in 
tones full of terrific and piercing sorrow: " He is in- 
nocent ! — Yes ! — He is innocent !" 

In vain could the efforts of Desgrais, in vain could 
the endeavours of his people tear her away from him or 
raise her from the ground. At length a strong unfeel- 
ing wretch with coarse and clownish hands seized upon 
the afflicted girl, and tore her with brutal force from the 
Lieutenant, and staggering back himself, awkwardly 



56 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

left the poor girl to fare as she could, who unsupported, 
fell back speechless upon the stone steps of the door, 
and remained lying as if dead upon the street. 

" Madame de Scuderi could not stand it any longer. 
" What has happened ? what has happened?" cried she, 
as she hastily opened the door of the carriage and step- 
ed out. The people bowed most respectfully to the 
worthy lady, who observing that several compassionate 
women had raised up the girl, and had set her upon the 
steps, and were now bathing her forehead with some 
strong balsam, advanced towards Desgrais and with 
some warmth repeated her question." 

" A most horrible affair has happened," replied 
Desgrais, " Rene Cardillac was this morning found 
murdered by means of a stiletto, and his assistant Oli- 
ver Brusson is the murderer; he has just been sent to 
prison." 

" And the girl?" exclaimed de Scuderi. 

" She is," said Desgrais, " she is Madelena, Car- 
dillac's daughter. The base villain was her lover. She 
now weeps, wails, and cries out above all things that 
Oliver is innocent— is perfectly innocent. In fine she 
knows something of the matter, and I must order her 
also to be carried to the Conciergerie." 

Desgrais on saying this, threw a roguish look upon 
the maid, at which de Scuderi trembled. In the mean- 



MADAME I>E SCUDERI. 57 

time the girl had begun to breathe lightly, but still she 
lay with closed eyes, incapable of speech or motion, 
and no one knew what to do, whether to carry her into 
her father's house, or to let her lie till she had in some 
measure recovered. 

Deeply affected, and with eyes that were streaming 
with tears, De Scuderi felt fears for the girl from the 
known licentiousness of Desgrais and his associates. 
At that moment there was a noise of many feet upon 
the stair; it was the police bringing down the corpse of 
the goldsmith. On observing this, de Scuderi, with 
ready decision called out, " Desgrais, I shall take the 
girl home with me, you may take care of the rest!" 

A hollow murmur of approbation flew through the 
crowd. The women raised up the girl in their arms ; 
a hundred hands were stretched out to offer assist- 
ance, and as if floating in the air the insensible maid 
was borne into the coach, while a shower of blessings 
on the worthy lady who had torn innocence from its 
blood-thirsty judge flowed from every lip. 

The applications of Serons, then one of the most cele- 
brated of the Parisian Physicians, were at length suc- 
cessful, for Madelena, who had lain for some hours in a 
state of perfect unconsciousness gave tokens of recovery. 
Madame de Scuderi completed what the physician had 
begun, and a flood of tears gave vent to the anguish 
H 



58 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

that was preying on the young girl's mind. When thus 
far recovered, Madelena endeavoured as far as her 
sobbings would permit, to relate how the event had 
occurred. 

Her story was, — that she was awakened at midnight 
by a light tapping at her chamber door, and immedi- 
ately recognised the voice of Oliver, who implored her 
in the most earnest manner to get up instantly, as her 
father lay at the point of death. In terror she leaped 
from her bed, opened the door, and followed Oliver, 
who, pale, distracted, and dripping with sweat, pro- 
ceeded with trembling steps, and bearing a light in his 
hand to the workshop. There her father was lying 
with fixed eyes and in the agonies of approaching dis- 
solution. With the most poignant lamentations she 
threw herself upon him and immediately took notice 
of his blood-stained shirt. Oliver softly drew her back 
and began to wash with some healing balsam and to 
bind up the wound which was on his left breast. Dur- 
ing these operations her fathers senses again returned, 
and the death-rattle for a moment ceased ; he cast up- 
on his daughter, and then upon Oliver the most tender 
and most affectionate looks, seized Madelena's hand, laid 
it in that of Oliver, and pressed them convulsively to- 
gether. Both fell down upon their knees by the bedside 
of the father, who with a piercing cry directed his eye to 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 59 

heaven — sank back upon his pillow and expired. Both 
were now plunged in the most profound anguish, and 
gave vent to their sorrow in sobs and tears* Oliver 
then told how his master in a visit he was called upon 
to make during the night, and on which he was order- 
ed to accompany him, was stabbed in his presence, and 
how he with the greatest exertions had borne the heavy- 
man to his house, never once dreaming that he was 
mortally wounded. Madelena also stated, that the 
morning had scarcely dawned before the people of the 
house, who had heard the noise of feet and weeping 
during the night, entered, and found her and Oliver still 
kneeling comfortless by the corpse of her father, — an 
alarm was instantly raised — the police arrived — and 
Oliver was dragged away to prison as the murderer 
of his master. 

Madelena now drew the most touching picture of 
the virtue, the piety, and the constancy that character- 
ized her beloved Oliver. That he had held his master 
in as high respect as if he had been his own father, and 
that her father returned that love in its fullest measure, 
that he had chosen him for his son-in-law in spite of 
his poverty, because he considered his abilities and his 
diligence were equal to his constancy and to the noble- 
ness of his disposition. All this Madelena said from 
the conviction of her heart, and concluded by adding, 



60 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

that although Oliver had in her very presence struck a 
dagger into the bosom of her father, she would have 
rather thought it a delusion of hell, as have once be- 
lieved that he was capable of such a horrid — such a 
frightful crime! 

De Scuderi deeply moved by Madelena's violent 
sorrow, and alike inclined to consider the poor young 
man innocent, made further inquiries, and found every 
thing that Madelena had said concerning the domestic 
relations that existed betwixt Cardillac and his asso- 
ciate to be perfectly correct. The neighbours too with 
one accord praised Oliver, as the model of a moral, 
pious, worthy, diligent young man, — nobody knew 
any bad of him, and yet when the frightful deed was 
mentioned, every one shrugged his shoulders, and 
thought that there was something unaccountable and 
mysterious in the matter. 

Oliver placed before the Chambre Ardente, denied 
(as de Scuderi understood,) with the greatest candour 
and firmness, the crime that was laid to his charge, and 
maintained that his master was attacked and struck 
down in his presence upon the street, and that he had 
dragged him alive to his own house, where he very 
soon afterwards expired. This tallied with every thing 
that Madelena had related. 

De Scuderi went over again and again every minute 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 61 

circumstance attendant upon this dreadful accident. 
She asked particularly whether there ever had been a 
quarrel between the master and his associate, and whe- 
ther Oliver was altogether free from that species of 
frenzy, which, like blind passion, overcomes the best- 
hearted men, and leads them to commit deeds which 
all their own cares are found incompetent to prevent. 
Yet the longer and the more enthusiastically Madelena 
talked of the domestic happiness in which the three, 
bound by the most endearing ties, had lived, the more 
every shadow of suspicion disappeared against him who 
was now accused. Laying aside, however, all those 
minute incidents which loudly pleaded for Oliver's 
innocence, and considering him to have been the mur- 
derer of Cardillac, de Scuderi could not find in the 
whole range of possibility, any ground for this unnatural 
act, which in every point of view must have destroyed 
Olivers happiness. — He is poor — but clever. — He had 
succeeded in winning the confidence of his celebrated 
master, — he loved his daughter — the father approved of 
his choice — his happiness, his prosperity was secured 
for life. — But allow — God knows by what means en- 
ticed, that Oliver overcome by rage, let fall his mur- 
derous hand upon his benefactor and father, what 
devilish hypocrisy would be requisite to enable him to 



62 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

conduct himself after the deed was done in the manner 
he did! 

In the firm persuasion of the innocence of Oliver, 
de Scuderi resolved to save him, cost what it might. 



CHAPTER VII. 



Artas. A morir si conduca. 

Arbace. Oh Dio ! fermate. Signor Pieta. 

Artas* Non la sperar per lui : 

Troppo enorme e il delitto, Io non confondo 

II reo coll' innocente ! 

Artaserse di Metastasio. 



Artax. Lead him to death. 

Arbace* Good heavens! stop! Have mercy Sire! 

Artax, There is no hope for him : 

His crime is far too black for pardon, 

I confound not the guilty with the innocent ! 

Metastasio* s Artaserx* 



It appeared to Madame de Scuderi that it would be 
better before calling upon the favour of the King, to go 
first to the President La Regnie, in order to draw his 
attention to all the circumstances which bespoke the 
innocence of Oliver Brusson, and thus perhaps to 
awaken a favourable impresson in the President's mind 
towards the accused, which he would doubtless anx- 
iously participate with the other judges. 



64 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

La Regnie received Madame de Scuderi with the 
greatest respect, a respect, considering the manner she 
was honoured by the King, she was justly entitled to. 
He listened attentively to every thing she brought for- 
ward touching the horrid deed — Oliver's connection 
with it, and particularly the young man's unexception- 
able character. A cunning, nay almost a malicious 
smile played upon his lip when he observed, that the 
affirmations and floods of tears that accompany exhorta- 
tions should not be passed over without consideration, — 
that a judge should not be the enemy of the accused, 
but should respect and lend a ready ear to every thing 
that militates in his favour. 

When de Scuderi had finished what she had to com- 
municate, she wiped the tears from her eyes and re- 
mained silent. La Regnie then began : " It is well 
worthy of your compassionate heart, that you, moved 
by the tears of a young girl under the influence of 
love's blind passion, should believe every thing which 
she brings forward, and even that you should be blind 
to the least trace of a most villanous transaction, but it 
is otherwise with the judge who is accustomed to tear 
away the mask that conceals the basest hypocrisy. It 
would indeed be improper for me to unravel to eveiy 
one who might ask me, the progressive course of a cri- 
minal process. I do my duty, and the opinion of the 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 65 

world has but little influence on me. Villains shall 
tremble before the Chambre Ardente which metes out 
no other punishments but blood or fire ! — But that in 
your estimation I may not be accounted a severe and 
. terrible executioner of the law, I propose in a few 
words to convince you of the guilt of the young 
villain upon whom, heaven be praised, vengeance now 
has fallen. Your acute mind will then despise the 
compassion which does honour to your heart, but 
which would be altogether unsuitable to me. Then 
listen — In the morning Rene Cardillac is found mur- 
dered by a stiletto — nobody is near him except his 
daughter and his associate Oliver Brusson. — In Oliver's 
chamber, under horrid circumstances, a stiletto is found 
newly stained with blood and which precisely fits the 
wound — ' Cardillac,' Oliver has said c was murdered 
during the night before my eyes.' * Did the person 
wish to rob him ?' < That I know not !' < You went 
with him and it was not possible for you to prevent 
the murder — to hold the murderer fast — to call for 
help?' c My master went fifteen, nay twenty paces 
before me—I followed him.' < Wherefore in all the 
world were you so far from him ?' < My master wish- 
ed it.' ■ What had Master Cardillac particularly to 
do on the street so late at night?' < That I cannot 
tell.' ' But did he ever go out formerly from his house 



66 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

after nine o'clock at night?' Here Oliver stammered, 
became agitated, sighed, and burst into tears — he 
swore however by all the saints, that Cardillac went 
out that night and received his death-blow. Now, it is 
particularly to be remarked, that it has been prov- 
ed in the clearest manner that Cardillac never left his 
house that night, and Oliver's assertion that he went 
out with him is a daring fabrication. The street door 
has a large heavy lock which at opening and shutting 
makes a loud noise, and the door itself grates so harsh- 
ly on its hinges that every time it is opened, the 
sound is echoed even to the highest floor of the 
house. Now there dwells in the undermost floor, 
quite close to the street door, old Master Claude Patru 
and his maid-servant, a person of almost 80 years 
of age, but still lively and acute. Both these persons 
heard Cardillac, according to his usual custom, come 
up the steps that evening at nine o'clock precisely, 
shut and fasten the door with considerable force, — then 
mount up stairs, — repeat in a loud voice the evening 
prayer, and from the shutting of the roonr door they 
were convinced he went into his own sleeping apart- 
ment. Master Claude complained of sleeplessness, as 
is but too common with persons of his great age. That 
night, at least, he could not shut an eye ; the maid went 
into the kitchen, it might be probably half-past nine, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 67 

and in going thither she was obliged to cross the pas- 
sage, brought a light, and sat down at the table near 
Master Patru, to read an ancient chronicle, while the 
old man, occupied with his own thoughts, sometimes sat 
in the arm chair, and sometimes walked lightly up and 
down the room to bring on weariness and sleep. Every 
thing remained still and silent till midnight; then how- 
ever, there was heard above, quick steps, a loud crash 
as if some one let fall a heavy burden on the ground, and 
almost at the same moment a hollow groan. Both were 
seized with a singular anxiety and trembling. The hor- 
ror of the dreadful deed which at that moment was 
perpetrated, passed away, but with the dawn of morn- 
ing, there came to light what was executed in the 
darkness." 

" But," said de Scuderi, " considering all the cir- 
cumstances I so fully enumerated, can you really give 
any reasonable pretence for this hellish deed?" 

" Hem !" replied La Regnie, " Cardillac was not 
poor, — he was the possessor of many valuable gems." 

" But," continued de Scuderi, " would they not all 
go to his daughter? — you forget that Oliver was to be 
Cardillac's son-in-law." 

" He was perhaps obliged to share them, — or even 
murder for others," said La Regnie. 



68 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

44 Share them — murder for others?" cried de Seu- 
deri, with astonishment. 

" Know/' continued the President, " know then, 
most noble Lady! that Oliver should long ago have 
bled upon the Place de Greve ; does not this deed of his 
most probably stand connected with that thick veiled 
mystery which until now has so frightfully hung over 
the whole of Paris. Oliver manifestly belongs to that 
base band, which holding in contempt all the plans, the 
stratagems, and powers of the courts of Justice, have 
carried on their diabolical practices safe and unpunish- 
ed. Through him must — through him shall every thing 
become clear! — Cardiliac's wound too is precisely si- 
milar to those of the persons who have been found 
robbed and murdered upon the streets. But the most 
convincing thing of all is, that since Oliver Brusson's 
apprehension all murders and robberies have ceased. 
The streets are now as safe at night as during day; 
nay, it is very probable that Oliver was the leader of 
the band. Still he will not confess; — but there are 
means to make him speak against his will!" — 

" And Madelena," cried de Scuderi, " and Madele- 
na — the affectionate innocent dove?" 

" Aye!" said La Regnie with a poisonous smile, 
44 aye, who can assure me positively that she is not an 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 69 

accomplice? — Why may not her tears flow more for 
the murderer than the murdered?" 

" What do you say?" cried de Scuderi, it is Dot pos- 
sible — a father, — such a girl — " 

" Oh," interrupted the President — " think but on 
Brinvillier ! you must forgive me should I see it neces- 
sary to tear from you your protegee, and order her to 
be thrown into prison." 

De Scuderi shuddered at the horrible suspicion. It 
seemed to her as if no affection, no virtue could subsist 
in the opinion of that frightful man; his most secret 
thoughts spoke but of murder and bloodshed. She 
rose up — " Be humane!" was all that her agitated and 
trembling lips could articulate. 

When in the act of descending the steps, whither 
the President had with ceremonious politeness accom- 
panied her, a strange thought came across her mind ; 
" would I be permitted to see the unfortunate Oliver 
Brusson?" said she, turning round abruptly to the Pre- 
sident. 

La Regnie looked at her with a thoughtful coun- 
tenance, then putting on that contemptuous smile 
which was peculiarly his own, said ; " I see plainly 
you would trust more to your feelings, to your internal 
voice, than to that which is done before your eyes in 
proof of Oliver's guilt or innocence ; — if you are not 



70 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

terrified to enter the dismal abode of crime, or if it is 
not disagreeable to you to behold the instruments of 
torture in all their dreadful variety, then shall the doors 
of the Conciergerie be open to you in the course of 
two hours, and this Oliver whose fate has awakened 
so much sympathy in your bosom shall be placed before 
you." 

De Scuderi could not indeed convince herself of the 
guilt of the young man. Every thing doubtless spoke 
against him ; no judge in the world with such convinc- 
ing evidence could have acted otherwise than did La 
Regnie. But the picture of domestic happiness which 
Madelena had drawn in such glowing colours, put to 
flight every evil suspicion, and she would rather sub- 
mit to account the whole a mystery, than believe in a 
thing against which her inward feelings were opposed. 

She determined to make Oliver repeat every thing 
that had happened on that fatal night, and as far as 
possible elicit a secret from him, which perhaps was 
kept back from the Judges, because it seemed useless 
for them to take any further trouble in the matter. 

Arrived at the Conciergerie, de Scuderi was con- 
ducted into a large well lighted apartment, and not 
long afterwards the clanking of heavy chakis struck 
her ear. — It was Oliver Brusson that was approach- 
ing — =But no sooner had he entered the door than 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 71 

Madame de Scuderi fell down insensible upon the 
floor. When she recovered, the young man had dis- 
appeared. She then earnestly desired that her carriage 
might be ordered, that she might quit that instant the 
abode of crime and wretchedness. Alas! at the first 
glance she had recognised in Oliver Brusson the young 
man, who upon the Pont-neuf had thrown the letter 
into the carriage, and who had brought her the casket 
of jewels. — Every doubt was now dispelled, La Reg- 
nie's frightful conjecture was but too well confirmed, 
that Oliver Brusson belonged to the band of murderers, 
and he must have murdered his master also! And 
Madelena? — Never had she been so deceived by her 
feelings, and tortured by an infernal power, of whose 
existence she had formed no conception; de Scuderi 
began to despair of truth itself. She gave way to 
the terrible suspicion that Madelena might have been 
a sworn participator in the dreadful deed of blood; 
and as it is but too common for the human mind, 
when an image is presented to it to seek out and find 
suitable colours to paint that image clearer and clearer, 
so de Scuderi found from the consideration of every 
circumstance of the deed, and from the minute fea- 
tures of Madelena's behaviour, but too much to awaken 
suspicion. Thus many a thing which at first is 
deemed a proof of innocence and purity, becomes 



72 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

the certain mark of cunning baseness and studied hy- 
pocrisy. Those heart-rending cries— those bitter tears 
might well flow from a deadly anxiety, not at the pros- 
pect of seeing her beloved die — but at seeing him fall 
by the hand of the executioner. She determined to 
shake from her neck the serpent which she was foster- 
ing in her bosom, and with this resolution stepped out 
of the carriage. 

On entering the chamber Madelena met her and 
threw herself at her feet. The heavenly eyes of the 
girl, — a cherub could not have sent up a look of greater 
affection, were directed to de Scuderi; her hands were 
folded across her palpitating bosom, and with a voice 
indicative of the most heartfelt anxiety, enquired whe- 
ther there was any hope or consolation. 

De Scuderi drawing herself up and giving to the 
tones of her voice as much earnestness and composure 
as was possible, replied, " Go ! go ! console the mur- 
derer who now awaits the rightful punishment of his 
shameless crimes ; — may the holy virgin prevent that 
you yourself be not doomed to suffer the misery of an 
ignominious death!" 
"Alas! alas! all is now lost — all is now lost!" and 
with these heart-piercing words, Madelena fell sense- 
less on the floor. De Scuderi ordered Maria to take 
care of the girl, while she herself retired to a distant 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 73 

apartment. With a heart completely severed from 
every thing earthly, de Scuderi wished no longer to 
live in a world full of such deceit. She complained 
that fate had first granted her in bitter scorn so many 
years, to strengthen her belief in truth and virtue, 
and then annihilated the lovely picture which had light- 
ed her through life. 

She heard Maria carry away Madelena, who cried 
piteously amid tears and sobs, " Alas ! and she too 
— she too has been deceived by the frightful cir- 
cumstances. — Wretch that I am — poor unfortunate 
Oliver!" 

The tones of her tender voice pierced the heart of 
de Scuderi, and again the presentiment of some hidden 
secret awoke in her bosom, and made her still hope 
in Olivers innocence. Oppressed with contending 
feelings the worthy lady exclaimed almost in a frenzy ; 
" What spirit of hell has entangled me in this dreadful 
business, which doubtless will cost me my life ?" 

At that moment, Baptiste, pale and agitated, entered 

the apartment, with the news that Desgrais was below. 

Since tbe horrible trial of La Voisin, the appearance of 

Desgrais at a house, was a certain forerunner of some 

serious accusation; thence arose Baptiste's alarm, 

which de Scuderi observing, said with a smile : " What, 

Baptiste, has Desgrais to do with you ? Nothing sure- 
K 



74. MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

ly! — The name of de Scuderi, was it found in the list 
of La Voisin?" 

" Oh for heaven's sake," replied Baptiste, trembling 
through every limb: " how can you speak so now? — 
for Desgrais — the fearful Desgrais does every thing so 
secretly, so quietly — he appears also to wish to see 
you immediately!" 

" Well !" said de Scuderi, " Baptiste, let him be ad- 
mitted, — lead in immediately the man who is so terrible 
in your eyes, but whose appearance never can give me 
the slightest concern." 

" The President," said Desgrais, as he entered the 
apartment, " the President La Regnie sent me to you 
with a request, upon the fulfilment of which, he dare 
hardly hope, were he not fully acquainted with your 
worth and courage, it is to lay in your hands the last 
means of bringing a base transaction to light ; you have 
already I understand taken a part in the process which 
at present keeps the Chambre Ardente and all Paris in 
breathless anxiety. Oliver Brusson since he saw you, 
is half mad. He now appears to make confessions, 
but still swears by heaven and all the saints, that he is 
altogether guiltless of Cardillac's murder, although he 
would willingly suffer death, which, he says, he has 
by his conduct deserved. Remark, my lady, that this 
last avowal evidently points to other crimes, which 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 75 

bear upon him. As yet, all our endeavours have been 
fruitless, and even threats of torture have elicited noth- 
ing. He has beseeched and implored us to procure 
him an interview with you. To you, — to you alone 
will he confess every thing. Consent then to hear the 
confession of Brusson ?" 

" How?" exclaimed de Scuderi, considerably incens- 
ed, "shall I act as the organ of a blood-thirsty judge? 
Shall I so abuse the confidence of an unfortunate man, 
to bring him to the scaffold? — No, Desgrais! — Brus- 
son may be a base murderer, yet I never could be cap- 
able of acting towards him in so shameful a manner. 
It is useless for me to receive secrets which must re- 
main locked up in my bosom like a sacred confession." 
" Perhaps," added the Lieutenant with a sly smile, 
" perhaps my lady your opinion might change when 
you had listened to the accused. Did you not yourself 
beseech the President to be humane? — he is so, when 
he assents to the foolish wishes of Brusson, and thus 
seeks out the last means that are left him, ere he ap- 
plies the torture which has been long ready for him." 

Madame de Scuderi shrunk back involuntarily at the 
mention of torture. 

" Know," continued Desgrais, " know, most worthy 
lady, that you will not be required to enter even once 
those gloomy chambers which filled you with terror 



V6 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

and abhorrence. In the stillness of the night, unknown 
to any one, shall Oliver Brusson be brought like a free 
man into your own house ; there without any witnesses, 
although well watched, can he without compulsion ac- 
quaint you with every thing which now presses upon 
his conscience. That you have nothing to fear from 
the wretched man I pledge my life ; — for he speaks of 
you with the tenderest affection and the most profound 
respect. He swears that his cruel fate by preventing 
him from seeing you sooner, has been the cause of 
his ruin, and has led him to look for nothing but 
immediate death. It then remains with you to tell as 
much of what the young man discovers to you as is 
consistent with your own pleasure; could any one ex- 
pect more from you?" 

Madame de Scuderi with downcast eyes looked 
deeply thoughtful. It appeared to her as if she were 
now called by the higher powers of heaven to unravel 
a frightful mystery, — as if she could not extricate her- 
self from the wonderfully engrossing interests into which 
she was unconsciously betrayed. The decisive step 
was instantly taken, for she said with dignity, " heaven 
will give me understanding and firmness; conduct 
Oliver Brusson here, I will speak with him I" 



CHAPTER VIII. 



Du bist 
Rein vor ihm, wie frischer Schnee ; 
Deine Heimath ist die Hen', 
Und der Strahl von ihrem Lichte 
Ruht auf deinem Angesichte ! 
Juogfrau, lass zu deinem Fussen 
Die geheime Schuld mich bussen, 
Hore mein Bekenntniss an ! 

Die Schuld. 

Pure art thou before him 
As is the drifted snow, thy home's on high, 
And now a beam of its refulgent light 
Plays on thy countenance — Virgin, let me now 
Expiate at thy feet, my secret guilt — 
Hear my confession. 

Mulner y s Guilt, 



As upon the memorable occasion, when Oliver Brus- 
son brought the casket of jewels, there was now heard 
a knocking at the street door of Madame de Scuderi, 
about midnight. Baptiste, informed of the nightly visi- 
tors, opened. An icy chill came over the worthy lady, 



78 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

when she ascertained from the soft steps and hollow 
murmurings that struck upon her ear, that the officers 
who brought the accused, were dividing themselves 
among the various passages of the house. 

At length, the door of the apartment was softly 
opened, Desgrais entered, behind him Oliver Brusson, 
unfettered and in respectable attire. " Here, most no- 
ble lady," said the lieutenant, " is Brusson !" and left the 
room. 

The young man fell down upon his knees before 
Madame de Scuderi, and in an imploring attitude, rais- 
ed up his clasped hands to heaven, while floods of 
tears poured from his eyes. 

The worthy lady looked at him with a deadly pale- 
ness, incapable of pronouncing a single syllable; for, 
at that moment there beamed through the features of 
the captive, even agitated as they were by distress, 
and bewildered by the most poignant sorrow, the ex- 
pression of an honest heart. 

The longer De Scuderi's eyes rested upon his coun- 
tenance, the more lively became the recollection of one 
whom she once tenderly loved, although she was un- 
able now to recall either where or when. Fear for- 
sook her instantly, she forgot that the murderer of 
Cardillac knelt before her; and she said, with a voice 
full of tha tcalmness and affection that was so pecu- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 79 

liarly her own; " Well Brusson, what have you to say 
to me?" 

Oliver still kneeling, gave a sigh of profound sor- 
row and said, " Oh most kind, most worthy lady! is 
then every trace of recollection of me lost?" 

De Scuderi looking at him still more narrowly, re- 
plied ; " that she had discovered a resemblance in him 
to a person whom she once loved, and that he might 
thank that resemblance for dispelling the horror of con- 
versing with a murderer, and of listening to him 
calmly." 

Brusson greatly agitated by these words, started up 
and retreated some paces, while he cast the most ma- 
lancholy look upon the ground. " Have you then," 
said he with a hollow voice, " Have you then entirely 
forgotten Anne Guiot? — her son Oliver, — the boy whom 
you so often fondled on your knee? — 'tis he, 'tis he 
who now stands before you." 

" By all the saints!" exclaimed Madame de 
Scuderi, as she covered her face with her hands, and 
sank back upon the couch. She had great reason for 
being astonished. Anne Guiot, the daughter of a poor 
citizen, lived from her earliest years in the house of 
Madame de Scuderi; there she was brought up and 
educated by her patroness, with all the care, and all the 
affection which the fondest mother could bestow upon 



80 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

a darling child. When she reached the budding spring 
of womanhood, a handsome and worthy youth called 
Claude Brusson, became enamoured of her. He was 
an expert and clever watchmaker, and at that period 
found full and advantageous employment for his genius 
in Paris. Anne soon returned his love, and Madame 
de Scuderi seeing no reason to. object to the marriage 
of her foster-daughter gave her consent. The young 
pair were united, — lived in the calm happiness of do- 
mestic comfort, and soon had their bond of bliss more 
firmly cemented by the birth of a lovely boy, the very 
image of his affectionate mother. De Scuderi made a 
perfect idol of the little Oliver ; she tore him from his 
mother for hours, nay for days to kiss and to fondle 
him, and it so happened that the boy lived almost en- 
tirely with her, and was even more pleased in her arms 
than in those of his mother. Three years passed over 
when the industry of the expert Brusson became so 
unproductive, and his business decreased so much, that 
he found himself at last unable to support his family. 
Upon this he took a longing for his native city Gene- 
va, and it so happened, that the little family went thi- 
ther in spite of all the opposition of de Scuderi, who 
promised them all the support it was in her power to 
bestow. Anne wrote her foster-mother several times 
and then was silent, and the latter became convinced, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 81 

that her new mode of life had obliterated all recollec- 
tion of her former happy days. 

It was now exactly three and twenty years since 
Claude Brusson, with his wife and child left Paris for 
Geneva. 

" Oh dreadful!" cried de Scuderi, after she had in 
some measure recovered from her astonishment, " Oh 
dreadful! — art thou Oliver? — the son of my ever dear 
Anne ? And now." — 

" Well," interrupted Oliver calmly and firmly, " well 
most worthy lady, you could never have imagined that 
the boy whom you, like the fondest mother so tender- 
ly fondled — whom you clasped to your bosom — into 
w r hose mouth you put sweatmeats — on whom you be- 
stowed the most endearing names, should, when ripen- 
ed into manhood, have stood before you accused of the 
most frightful murder. — 'Tis true I am not free from 
all reproach ; the Chambre Ardente may with perfect 
justice convict me of a crime, but as I hope to die 
happy and to gain heaven, though it be by the execu- 
tioner's hand, I am free of every bloody stain, — it was 
not by my hand — it was not by my hand the unfortu- 
nate Rene Cardillac fell!" At these words Oliver 
was seized with a trembling fit ; de Scuderi in silence 
pointed to a seat which was close to him, upon which 
he slowly sat down. , 



82 . MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

" I had time enough to prepare myself," continued 
he, " for this interview, which I considered as the last 
favour granted to me by an appeased God, and to gain 
also as much calmness and recollection, as was neces- 
sary to relate to you the story of my frightful and un- 
heard-of misfortunes. Have compassion on me, and 
listen to me calmly, lest the discovery of a dreadful se- 
cret may overpower you with surprise, and fill you 
with horror. Oh that my poor father had never left 
Paris! — My earliest recollections of Geneva are asso- 
ciated with the tears of my disconsolate parents — with 
their complaints, which I did not comprehend, but 
which often drew tears from my eyes. — At a later pe- 
riod I was fully convinced of the oppressive indigence, 
and deep misery in which my parents lived. My fa- 
ther was disappointed in all his hopes. Borne down 
by sorrow and by suffering, he died at the very mo- 
ment he had succeeded in getting me bound an appren- 
tice to a goldsmith. My mother spoke much of you 
— she wished to inform you of every thing, but that 
bashfulness which so frequently arises from poverty, in- 
terfered; that, and probably false shame, which often 
gnaws at the broken heart, prevented her from putting 
her determination into effect. A few months after the 
death of my father, my mother followed him to the 
grave." 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 83 

"Poor Anne! poor Anne!" exclaimed Madame de 
Seuderi, overpowered by grief. 

" Thanks and praise be to the eternal powers in hea- 
ven that she is gone and not allowed to behold her be- 
loved son fall by the hand of the executioner, branded 
with infamy!" Oliver uttered these words in a loud 
voice, while he threw a wild and terrible look on high. 
A noise was now heard below as if persons were walk- 
ing up and down. " Ha! ha!" said Oliver, with a bit- 
ter smile, " Desgrais awakes his comrades as if I could 
escape hence. But to proceed — I was hard wrought 
by my master, but in spite of this I laboured as much 
as possible, and very soon surpassed him in expertness. 
A stranger happened to enter our workshop one day 
to purchase a trinket ; a beautiful necklace which I 
was just in the act of finishing struck his fancy, he 
clapped me upon the shoulder with a friendly look 
while eying the ornament, and said, ' Aye ! aye ! my 
young friend, that is indeed a very- excellent piece of 
work. I know not in fact any one that could surpass 
you but Rene Cardillac, who is assuredly the first 
goldsmith in the world ; to him you should go, with 
delight he will give you employment, for it is only one 
like you that could assist him in his cunning workman- 
ship; and it is only from him that you ever can learn 
any thing more of your profession V The words of the 



84 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

stranger sank deep into my soul. I could no longer 
remain in Geneva, a strong impulse urged me to leave 
it, and at length my master after many urgent solicita- 
tions consented to let me go. I came to Paris. Rene 
Cardillac received me coldly and harshly, but I told 
him I would not leave him till he gave me something 
however trifling to execute. I got a small ring to 
make; when I brought back the finished trinket to 
him he stared at me with his sparkling eyes, as if he 
would look through my very soul, and then said: 
6 Thou art a clever expert fellow, — thou mayest come 
and help me in my workshop ; I will pay you well, 
you will be quite contented !' — Cardillac kept his word. 
I had already passed several weeks in his house with- 
out having seen his daughter, who if I mistake not was 
residing in the country with one of her aunts. She 
came home at last however. Oh thou everlasting 
power in heaven, what has happened to me since first 
I saw that fair angelic form ! Did ever man love wo- 
man half so fondly as I do thee ? and now — oh Made- 
lena, Madelena! 

Oliver could not proceed further for tears of sorrow ; 
he held his hands before his face and sobbed most pite- 
ously; but at length after struggling against the deep 
distress that afflicted him, he continued his narrative. 

" Madelena looked upon me with friendly eyes. She 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 85 

came oftener and oftener into the workshop ; her love 
was evident, and I observed it with unspeakable joy. 
So narrowly however were we watched by the father, 
that a few stolen squeezes of the hand were the only 
tokens we could give each other of the decision of our 
hearts. Cardillac appeared to remark it not. I thought 
it would be best, first to win his favour by becoming 
a proficient in my profession, before asking permission 
to woo his daughter. One morning when I was in the 
act of commencing my day's labour, Cardillac entered 
the workshop with anger and contempt painted on his 
gloomy countenance, and said, c I will not require your 
assistance any longer, — leave my house this very in- 
stant, and let me never again see you within its walls. 
Wherefore I can no longer suffer you to remain here 
is not necessary for me to tell you, nor for you to 
know!' I wished to speak, but he seized me with his 
powerful hands and pushed me out of the door, with a 
force that made me fall down and bruise both my head 
and limbs." 

" Insulted and torn with the most gnawing grief I 
quitted the house, and found at last at the extremity 
of the Faubourg St. Martin, a kind acquaintance who 
took me into his room. I could find no consolation — 
no rest. During the night I slipt out to Cardillac's 
house, thinking that Madelena might hear my sighs 



86 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

and my complaints ; that she might perhaps be desirous 
of speaking to me in secret from the window. Many 
desperate plans floated in my brain, to the execution 
of which I hoped to persuade myself." 

" To Cardillac's house, in the Rue Nicaise, is at- 
tached a high wall with recesses, in which stand several 
old half patched statues. One night as I stood close 
by one of those figures and was gazing up towards the 
windows of the house, which look into the court, which 
is enclosed by the wall, I discovered a light in the 
Goldsmith's workshop ; it was midnight, and Cardillac 
never used to be awake at that hour, — indeed he was 
always accustomed to go to bed at nine. My heart 
beat with anxious expectation. I thought that some 
accident might probably open a path to my entering 
the house. But while I yet looked the light disap- 
peared ; I pressed myself close to the statue, which 
was placed in one of the recesses, but was soon glad 
to scramble back not a little terrified, when I felt an 
opposing pressure — in fact when I felt the figure become 
as if alive. By the glimmering light of a starry night, 
I observed that the statue moved slowly round, and 
from behind it there slipt out a dark figure, who 
crossed the street with a light step. I sprang towards 
the statue, but it stood as at first, quite close to the 
wall. Unconsciously, or rather like one impelled by 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 87 

some inward power, I followed with cautious step the 
strange figure. When near to a picture of the Virgin, 
the figure turned round, and the full light of a bright 
lamp which burned before the representation of the holy 
mother, having illuminated the countenance of the mys- 
terious being, discovered to my astonished eyes Rene 
Cardillac ! An inexpressible anxiety, an unaccountable 
tremour took possession of me, and, as if bound by some 
magic spell, I felt obliged to move on towards the ghost- 
like wanderer ; in truth, although it was not then full 
moon, I considered my master as an enchanted sleep- 
walker. Cardillac, however, disappeared at a side in the 
deep shadow of the street. From a low but well-known 
hem, I perceived that he had entered into the gateway 
of a house. What does this betoken, what would he do ? 
thought I; and while thus questioning myself, full of as- 
tonishment, and pressing close to the houses lest I should 
be seen, a man sporting the gayest feathers and most 
glittering spurs approached, whistling and singing. Like 
a tyger upon his prey, Cardillac leapt from his conceal- 
ment upon the unthinking cavalier, who, in the twink- 
ling of an eye, fell groaning to the ground. I sprang 
forward with a ciy of horror. Cardillac was above the 
man, who lay stretched upon the street — Master Cardil- 
lac, what do you do, cried I, in a loud voice ; — most ac- 



88 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

cursed of hell, bellowed the Goldsmith, while he rushed 
past me like a flash of lightning, and. disappeared. 

" Almost petrified I approached the wounded man 
and knelt down by his side, thinking that he yet might 
perhaps be saved ; but alas, every spark of life had fled. 
In my anxiety and consternation I did not perceive 
that the Police had for several moments surrounded 
me: ' Another struck down by those devils — aye, aye, 
young man what are you doing here ? — are you one of 
the band? away with him!' was the general exclama- 
tion, and I was instantly laid hold off. So much was 
I thunderstruck, that I had scarcely strength to stam- 
mer out that I was incapable of perpetrating such a 
frightful deed, and that they should allow me to go in 
peace. Upon this, one of the party held up a lantern 
to my face, and exclaimed with a laugh, 6 Why this is 
Oliver Brusson, the goldsmith's assistant, he who 
works with the honourable and respectable Master 
Rene Cardillac — aye! aye! he would indeed murder 
people upon the streets? Look at me straight in the 
face — is it really the mode of murderers to lament over 
the corpses of their victims, and allow themselves to 
be caught? — How was it young man? Tell it boldly!' 
' Straight before me/ said I, 'a man sprang out upon the 
person there, struck him down, and ran quick as light- 
ning from the spot. I gave a loud cry, and then ap- 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 89 

proached, anxious to see whether the person fallen 
could yet be saved.' < 'Twas impossible,' cried one of 
the Police, who was raising up the body, ' he is dead, 
the dagger has gone through his heart as usual/ * The 
devil it has,' said another, < we have arrived again, like 
yesterday night, a moment too late' Upon this they 
departed with the corpse." 

" How I came to myself I cannot well tell ; I felt as 
if I had just awakened, and was wondering at the fool- 
ish imposture. — Cardillac — the father of my Madelena ! 
— a base murderer! — I fell down powerless at the 
thought upon the stone steps of a house. The morn- 
ing by degrees grew lighter ; an officer's hat, richly or- 
namented with feathers lay before me on the pavement. 
Cardillac's bloody deed, executed upon the very spot 
where I sat, rose up to my mind, and in terror I ran 
off." 

" Bewildered and almost senseless, I sat in my 
chamber, when the door opened, and Rene Cardillac 
stepped in. ; For heaven's sake ! what do you want?' 
cried I to him. Without taking the least notice of 
what I said, and smiling with a calmness and light- 
heartedness which increased my inward horror, he ap- 
proached me. Having drawn towards him an old bro- 
ken stool, he sat himself down close by the straw mat- 
tress upon which I had thrown myself, and from which 
M 



90 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

I was unable to rise. 6 Well Oliver/ began he, bow 
are you, poor young man? I erred indeed when I 
drove you from my house. I feel the want of you at 
every turn. Even now I have a piece of work, 
which I cannot completely finish without your assis- 
tance. What do you think of coming again to my work- 
shop ? — ' You are silent ? yes, I know I have displeased 
you — I will not conceal that I felt angry at you for 
your love affair with my Madelena ; but now that I 
have weighed the matter well, I am convinced, that con- 
sidering your ability, your diligence, and your honesty, 
I could not wish for a better son-in-law than yourself. 
Come then with me, and try whether you will be able 
to gain my daughter's love.' " 

" Cardillac's words pierced my very soul ; I trembled 
at his depravity, and could not utter a syllable. ' Thou 
tremblest,' continued he, in a sharp tone of voice, while 
he stared at me with his sparkling searching eyes; 'thou 
tremblest' — perhaps thou canst not go with me to-day, 
thou hast other things before thee. Thou wouldst 
mayhap pay a visit to Desgrais, or allow thyself to be 
conducted into the presence of Argenson or la Regnie. 
Take care young man, that the deed which thou wouldst 
communicate and lay to the charge of another, do not 
fall upon your own head and destroy thee !' The 
words gave to my deeply loaded soul an immediate 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 91 

vent. * Thou mayest said I, •' thou mayest do so, who 
art acquainted with such frightful deeds — I have 
nought to do with them." " Assuredly," continued Car- 
ardillac, " you did yourself honour by working with 
me — with me; the most celebrated master of his time, 
and above all, highly respectable not only for his abili- 
ty, but for his honesty; every base calumny would 
only fall with redoubled force upon the head of the 
calumniator. But as to Madelena, I must now confess 
that it is for her sake I now urge you to return. She 
loves you with a warmth which I could not have ex- 
pected from such a girl. At the moment of your de- 
parture she fell at my feet, clasped me round the 
knees, and confessed amid a thousand tears, that she 
could not exist without you. I thought she only acted 
like others of her sex in love, who swear eternal affec- 
tion, and yet look upon the next fair face with as much 
pleasure as on that of their lost lover. But my Made- 
lena languished and fell sick, and when attempting to 
talk her out of the mad idea, she blubbered out your 
name at least an hundred times. What could I do 
then, if I would not leave her to despair? Yesterday 
evening I told her I would grant her all her wishes, 
and would bring you back to-day. During the night 
her cheeks have blossomed like the rose, and she now 



92 MADAME BE SCUDERL 

awaits your arrival in all the anxious eestacy of love's 
warm passion." 

" May the eternal powers forgive me; I know not 
how it happened, but almost in the twinkling of an eye, 
I stood again in the house of the goldsmith — heard 
Madelena sob out, < Oliver — my Oliver — my beloved 
— my husband — take me in your arms — press me to 
your bosom, — while I in the overflow of the greatest 
joy, swore by the virgin and all the saints, never, never 
more to leave her!" 

Trembling at the recollection of that decisive mo- 
ment, Oliver was obliged to pause. De Scuderi, filled 
with horror, at the deed of a man whom she had deem- 
ed propriety — nay virtue itself, exclaimed " 'Tis horri- 
ble — JRene Cardillac belonged to the band of murderers 
who have so long made our good city their dread- 
ful den?" 

" What do you say my lady," said Oliver, " to the 
band? — There is no such band. It was Cardillac a- 
lone, who with base activity sought out and found his 
unfortunate victims. That he did it alone, lay the se- 
curity whereby he continued his operations, and the 
insurmountable difficulty of ever gaining any trace of 
the murderer!" 



CHAPTER IX. 



A devil, a born devil, on whose nature 
Nurture can never stick ; on whom my pains 
Humanely taken, all, all lost, quite lost; 
And as with age his body uglier grows, 
So his mind cankers. 

Shakespeare, 



Oliver Bruson after a short pause proceeded thus: 
" The remainder will clear up the mystery that hangs 
over the basest but at the same time the most unfortun- 
ate of men. The situation in which I stood with my 
Master made us both think little. The step was taken. 
I could not now retreat. At the same time it appear- 
ed to me as if I bad been Cardillac's associate in mur- 
der, and it was only in Madelena's love I forgot the in- 
ward pain which afflicted me, it was only in her pres- 
ence I could ever succeed in blotting out from my me- 
mory the traces of that nameless crime." 



94 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

" I wrought daily with the old man in his workshop, 
but was incapable of looking him in the face, and could 
scarcely utter a word from the horror which the neigh- 
bourhood of such a dreadful character naturally produc- 
ed ; a man who, although fulfilling all the virtues of the 
most affectionate father, and of the most worthy citizen 
in the day, could practise during the night the most 
frightful of crimes. Madelena, the pious, angelic child 
regarded her father with a love almost approaching to 
idolatry. Oh! my heart was deeply pierced indeed, 
when I thought that if ever vengeance should fall upon 
the masked hypocrite, and she be left to be beguiled by 
the hellish craft of Satan, how frightful would be her 
wild despair! That oft recurring thought sealed my 
lips, and I was obliged to bear about with me the death 
of the criminal. Notwithstanding all I learnt from the 
Police, still Cardillac's misdeeds, his motive and his 
mode of acting appeared a riddle. This however was 
soon made clear enough." 

" It happened one day while Cardillac was laughing 
and joking over his work, (a manner of his which even 
more than any other tended to excite my horror), he 
became all of a sudden completely abstracted. The or- 
nament which he was labouring at, was thrown hur- 
riedly aside, so that the stones and pearls rolled out up- 
on the floor, and starting up from his seat, he said in 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 95 

an emphatic voice: <■ Oliver! we cannot thus remain 
any longer, — this suppressed demeanour to me is un- 
bearable ! — What all the sly cunning of Desgrais 
and his associates were unable to discover, Fate has 
placed in thy hands. Thou hast seen me at my nightly 
work, a work to which my evil star impels me — all 
resistance is vain. — It was thy evil star too that made 
thee follow me, that enveloped thee in an invisible man- 
tle, that gave lightness to thy footsteps, so that I who 
can see as clearly in the darkest night as the ra- 
venous tyger, and who can discover the least noise, 
though at some streets distance, even the very hum of 
an insect, did not remark thee. It was thy evil star that 
led thee to become my associate. It would be treason 
as thou now standest not to think so, therefore thou 
shalt know every thing'. — < No longer shall I be thy 
associate, hypocritical villain !' would I have cried out, 
but the inward horror which the words of Cardillac 
had conjured up completely stoppsd my utterance — In- 
stead of words I gave but an unmeaning cry. Cardillac 
sat down again upon his workstool ; he wiped the sweat 
from off his brow, and appeared so much agitated with 
the remembrance of the past as to be almost unable to 
collect himself; at length he began thus : ' Wise men 
speak much of the strange impressions many women re- 
ceive when encient. and of the wonderful influence of 



96 MADAME DE SCUDERL 

such impressions upon the child which they carry in 
their womb. A very singular story of this kind was 
told of my mother. She had gone when scarcely more 
than a month with child of me, along with some other 
female acquaintances to a splendid fete which was giv- 
en at the Trianon at Versailles. There, her eye fell 
upon a Cavalier in Spanish attire, who wore a splendid 
chain of precious stones suspended from his neck, and 
from which she tried in vain to avert her eye. Her 
whole existence was an ardent desire for precious gems, 
which appeared to her above all earthly possessions. 
The Cavalier who now so much attracted her by the 
splendour of his jewels, had several years previous to 
my mother's marraige made attempts upon her virtue, 
but these she had resisted with horror. Her eye in- 
stantly recognised him, but instead of appearing to her 
as he had once done, the basest of men, he now seem- 
ed, in the brilliant glow of the sparkling diamonds to 
be a being of an higher order, nay the perfection of 
beauty itself. The Cavalier remarked the longing and 
passionate looks of my mother. He flattered himself 
that he might be more fortunate than formerly, and 
took means of approaching her, and wyling her away 
from her friends to a more secret and solitary part of 
the garden. There, with all the ardour of a fond lov- 
er he clasped her in his arms — my mother seized upon 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 9? 

the beautiful necklace, but at that very instant the Ca- 
valier fell and drew my mother along with him to the 
ground. Whether it was from the fall or from any other 
cause, I know not; it is enough tc say, that he at this 
moment breathed his last. Vain were my mother's ex- 
ertions to extricate herself from the stiffened grasp of the 
corpse. His hollow eyes were directed to her in life- 
less fixedness. Death grappled with her powerfully 
and held her to the ground. Her piercing cries for help 
at last reached the ears of her distant friends, who ran 
towards the spot and released her from the arms of her 
frightful lover. This horrible event threw my mother 
into a dangerous illness. I was given up for lost, but she 
recovered, and her delivery was more fortunate than any 
one could have anticipated. But the terror of that 
frightful moment had affected me. My evil star had 
risen and enkindled within me one of the strangest, 
and most destructive of passions. From my earliest 
years, glittering diamonds and golden ornaments were 
above all things valuable in my eyes. It was con- 
sidered by all only a common childish inclination, 
but it soon shewed itself something else, for when 
merely a boy, I stole every jewel and every piece of 
gold I could lay my hands upon. Like the ablest 
connoisseur, I knew from instinct an artificial from 
a real gem ; the latter only had power to entice me, 



98 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

artificial stones and common trinkets I allowed to 
lie untouched. This innate desire my father tried 
to weaken and subdue by many dreadful chastise- 
ments; but as I still busied myself with gold and pre- 
cious stones, I was turned to the profession of a gold- 
smith. I laboured at it with delight and assiduity, and 
soon became the first master of the art. A period now 
began in which my natural impulse so long subdued 
broke forth with new power, and increasing in strength, 
monopolised my very being. No sooner had I finished 
a set of ornaments, than I fell into a state of discomfort 
and restlessness which robbed me of sleep — health — 
nay the very love of existence itself. The person for 
whom I had wrought stood like a spectre, day and 
night, before me, decorated with my ornaments, and a 
voice whispered in my ear, ' they are yet thine, — they 
are yet thine — take them, what has the dead to do with 
diamonds!' I listened inwardly, and lent myself to the 
arts of private robbery. I had an easy access to the 
houses of the great, and I took advantage of every op- 
portunity — no lock withstood my ingenuity, and very 
soon all the ornaments which I had made were again 
in my possession. But at length even that, would not 
allay my restless passion, a deep internal voice attracted 
my attention, and tauntingly said, ' Why should 
mortal man wear thy jewels?' I know not how it 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 99 

happened, but I threw a look of inexpressible hatred 
upon those for whom I had finished any ornament. 
Yes ! in the deepest recesses of my heart there raged 
a desire to murder those before whom I even trem- 
bled. About that time I purchased this house. I had 
come to complete the business with the proprietor, and 
in this very room we sat mutually pleased with the 
concluded bargain, and drank a flask or two of wine 
together. It was night, and I was anxious to depart 
when my landlord said, < Hark ye Master Rene, before 
you leave me I must make you acquainted with a secret 
in this house ;' upon that he unlocked a cabinet which 
is constructed in the wall, slipped aside the back of 
it, entered into a small apartment, and then bent down 
and raised a trap door. Through this we descended 
a steep and narrow stair, reached a small gateway which 
he unlocked, and then stepped into the court. The 
old man afterwards proceeded towards the wall, push- 
ed aside an almost invisible piece of projecting iron, 
and immediately a portion of the enclosure moved 
round, so that a man could easily slip through the 
opening and get to the street. You must see some- 
time or other, Oliver, this artful contrivance, which, the 
cunning monks of the cloister which once stood here 
evidently had erected to enable them to steal out un- 
perceived. It it is made of wood, but from without is 



100 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

plastered over and painted, and in front of the opening 
is placed a wooden statue in imitation of stone, which 
turns round along with the portion of the wall on con- 
cealed pivots. Gloomy thoughts arose within me when 
I saw this accommodating mechanism, it seemed to me 
as if it would further the execution of deeds of which 
I was myself yet unconscious. Just ahout that time 
I had delivered up to a gentleman of the court a very 
rich set of jewels, which I knew were intended for an 
opera-dancer. From that moment the death-tormentor 
had never left me — the spectre attended on my every 
step — the whispering devil was at my ear! I rushed 
into my house — bathed in a bloody sweat of anxiety, 
and threw myself sleepless upon my bed. — My fancy 
pictured the man stealing to the dancer's house with 
my jewels. — In a frenzy I sprang up — threw my mantle 
around me — descended the secret stair — passed through 
the wall to the Rue Nicaise — he approached — I fell 
upon him — he gave a cry — hut firmly held from behind 
I thrust a dagger through his heart — the jewels were 
mine! This executed, I felt a quiet — a satisfaction 
which I had never felt before. The spectre had disap- 
peared, and satan's voice was silent. I now discovered 
what my evil star had required — I must needs yield to 
it or perish ! Thou art now acquainted Oliver with 
my action and my impulse ! Think not because I must 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 101 

do what I cannot leave undone, that I have completely 
forsworn every feeling of pity and compassion which 
so peculiarly belong to human nature. You know what 
a painful task it has ever been to me to deliver up a set 
of jewels; that for those whose death I would prevent, 
I never would do any work; and knowing as I do that 
on the morrow, perhaps the spectre will call for blood, 
I sometimes drive away with a blow the owner of the 
gems I have wrought, that they may be allowed to re- 
main in my hands.' " 

" Having said this, Cardillac conducted me into a 
secret vault and showed me his cabinet of jew r els. The 
king himself does not possess a richer. Upon every 
set of ornaments was suspended a small ticket, marked 
for whom it was made, when it was got, and whether 
by stealth, by robbery, or murder. ' On thy marriage- 
day,' said the goldsmith, in a hollow, yet passionate 
roice, ' on thy marriage-day Oliver, thou shalt swear 
o me with thy hand upon the pictured cross of Christ, 
that when I die all of these valuables shall be reduced 
to dust, by means which I shall then make known to 
you. I wish not that a human being, at least that Ma- 
delena and yourself should ever come into possession 
of what was purchased with blood.' " 

" Imprisoned in this labyrinth of crime, torn alter- 
nately by love and horror — by joy and terror, I could 



102 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

only liken myself to the damned, on whom a compas- 
sionate angel mildly smiles, but whom satan holds 
firmly fixed within his iron claws, and who finds in 
the compassionate smile of the pious angel — a smile 
wherein is seen to play the very happiness of heaven, 
the most frightful remembrancer of his own misery ! 
I thought on flight — yea on suicide — but Madelena! — 
blame me — blame me, most worthy lady, that I was 
too weak to subdue with power, a passion which en- 
chained me to crime — but may I not expiate it by a 
shameful death." 



CHAPTER X. 



Yet think not that the wretch who finds the flaw, 

To baffle justice and elude the law, 

Unpunished lives; he pays atonement due; 

Each hour his malefactions rise to view, 

Vengeance, more fierce than engines, racks and wheels 

Unseen, unheard, his mangled bosom feels. 

What greater curse can earth or heaven devise, 

Than his, who, self-condemned, in torture lies? 

From agony of mind who knows no rest, 

But bears his own accuser on his breast? 

Murphy. 



" But," said Oliver Bruson, " Let me proceed to the 
conclusion of my narrative. One day Cardillac return- 
ed home uncommonly gay. He fondled Madelena, 
cast upon me the most friendly looks, drank with us at 
table a flask of most choice wine, such indeed as he was 
only accustomed to give on high feast and holy-days, 
and sang and enjoyed himself exceedingly. Madelena 
left us, and I rose to go to the workshop. ' Sit you 



104 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

down young man, — no more work to day,' said he, * let 

us drink to the health of the most worthy and most 

extraordinary lady in Paris/ Upon that I sat down, 

and he quaffing off a full glass said: * Tell me, Oliver, 

how these verses please you : 

" Un amant qui craint les voleurs 
N'est point digne d'amour." 

"He then told me what had occured in the apartments 
of Madame de Maintenon, betwixt his majesty and 
you, and added; that he had long respected you in a 
way he had done no other human being; that before you, 
possessed as you were of the greatest virtue, his evil 
star would grow pale and powerless, and though even 
wearing one of hia most costly ornaments, there was in 
the wearer what would put to flight the base spectre that 
haunted him, and would lull to rest the thought of mur- 
der that continually assailed him. ' Listen, Oliver, to 
what I have determined upon. A considerable time 
ago I should have finished for Henrietta of England, a 
necklace and armlets, and had even looked out the gems 
for that purpose. The work succeeded with me better 
than any other I ever tried, but it almost broke my 
heart when I thought of parting with the ornaments 
which were the very jewel of my soul. You have 
heard of the princess's unhappy death by murder. I 
kept the jewels and propose now to send them in the 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 105 

name of the persecuted band to Madame de Scuderi as 
a token of my respect and gratitude. And moreover, 
that the worthy lady may receive the speaking token 
of her triumph, I shall hold Desgrais and his associates 
in the derision they deserve. You, Oliver, shall carry 
the ornaments to her house. 

"As soon as Cardillac mentioned your name I felt as 
if a dark veil was torn asunder, and that the lovely pic- 
ture of my happy childhood rose up before me in bril- 
liant and variegated colouring — a strange confidence 
took possession of me, and I felt my soul irradiated 
with a beam of hope before which all the gloomy phan- 
toms that afflicted me dissappeared. 

" Cardillac was at no loss to discover the impression 
made upon me, and interpreted them in his own way. 
c I see,' said he, ' you approve of my intention. I con- 
fess to you truly that a deep inward voice, — very dif- 
ferent from that, which like an hungry and ferocious an- 
imal desires a bloody sacrifice, has commanded me to 
do this. My heart is often strangely afflicted — an in- 
ward restlessness — the fear of something dreadful, the 
horror of futurity, powerfully impresses me. It ap- 
pears to me as if the deeds that have been executed 
by my evil star by these hands could not be laid to the 
account of my immortal soul which had no share in the 

transaction. In such a state of mind I determined up- 
O 



106 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

on finishing a beautiful diamond crown for the holy 
virgin in the church of St. Eustasius; but an agony 
altogether incomprehensible overcame me as often as I 
attempted to commence the work, when at last I gave it 
up entirely. And now in sending the most beautiful 
ornaments I ever made to Madame de Scuderi, I feel 
as if in the deep humility of my soul, I brought an 
offering to Virtue and Piety, with prayers that would 
prove effectual. 

" Cardillac, acquainted with the most minute parts 
of your history and motions, gave me every information 
rding your house and household, and the manner I 
should deliver to you the jewels, which be himself en- 
closed in a handsome casket. I was delighted with 
the project. 1 thought Heaven itself shewed me the way 
through this outrageous act of the Goldsmith, whereby 
to save myself from the hell in which a proscribed sin- 
ner was languishing. Contrary to Cardillac's wishes, 
I was anxious to meet with you, — as Anne Brusson's son 
as your foster-child I thought of throwing myself at 
your feet and making a full confession of every thing 
to you. Touched by tht nameless misery which threat- 
ened the poor innocent Madelena, you might have kept 
the secret towards its discoverer, while your great and 
acute mind would indubitably have found out sure 
means to prevent the repetition of Cardilkc's base and 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 107 

villanous deeds, without making these deeds known to 
the world. Ask me not wherein these means existed. 
I know not truly; but sure I am there lay within my 
soul a conviction, firm as my belief in the all-powerful 
support of the holy virgin, that you would save both 
Madelena and myself. You know my design was frus- 
trated on that night when I so much alarmed your ser- 
vant, but I lost not the hope of being more fortunate 
on another occasion. 

" It now happened that Cardillac at once lost all his 
gaiety. He stalked about in deep distress, stared with 
fixed eyes on all around, muttered unintelligible words, 
— struggled with his hands as if in the act of repelling 
some frightful object, in short, his mind appeared to be 
again tortured with evil thoughts. He had been thus 
affected for a whole morning, when he sat down upon 
his works tool, but almost instantly sprang up again, and 
looking fearfully through the window, said : < I wish 
Henrietta of England had worn my jewels !' The words 
filled me with terror. I knew that his erring mind was 
again possessed by the murdering spectre, that the 
voice of Satan was again loud in his ears. I saw your 
life threatened by the demon. Had Cardillac only 
once more his ornaments in his hands, thought I, you 
would be saved. The danger waxed greater and 
greater every moment, I met you on the Pont-neuf, 



108 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

pressed forward to your carriage, — threw you the letter 
which implored you to put the jewels, which you had 
received, immediately into the hands of the goldsmith. 
You came not — my anxiety reached to the acme of 
despair; Cardillac spoke of nothing else for several days 
but costly jewels, which he said were continually be- 
fore his eyes in his dreams. I could think of no other 
set of ornaments but yours, and it seemed but too evi- 
dent that he was hatching some other assassination, 
which lie intended putting into execution that very 
night. I was determined to save you though it should 
cost Cardillac his life. So when the goldsmith, after 
the evening prayer, locked himself up as usual, I let 
mvself down through a window into the court, slipped 
through the opening in the wall, and placed myself in 
the deep shadow of the houses, where I stood unob- 
served. I had not stood long before Cardillac came 
out from behind the statue, and proceeded quietly 
along the street. I followed him — he went to the 
Rue St. Honore — my heart trembled, and Cardillac in 
an instant disappeared. I determined upon placing 
myself at your street-door. At that very moment, a* 
on the former occasion, when chance made me a wit- 
ness of the goldsmith's murderous deed, there ap- 
proached a gaily dressed officer, who passed close by 
me, without however observing me. A dark figure 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 109 

instantly sprang out and fell upon him. It was Car- 
dillac. I will prevent this murder, thought I, and 
giving a loud cry, in two or three leaps I was upon the 
spot — not the officer, but Cardillac had fallen upon the 
ground amid the groans of death. The officer let his 
dagger fall, drew his sword from its scabbard, and 
thinking me an accomplice of the murderer, put him- 
self into an attitude of assault, when observing that I 
paid no attention to him, but was only taken up with 
the wounded man, he scampered off as fast as possible. 
The goldsmith was still alive, and after picking up the 
dagger, (which the officer had left) and placing it in 
my girdle, I took him on my back, and carried him 
carefully home, through the secret way to his work- 
shop. — The rest is known to you. 

" You see most worthy lady that my whole guilt 
lies in not having betrayed the father of my Madelena 
to the judges, and thus have put an end to his crimes. 
Pure am I of the guilt of blood. — No torture will draw 
from me the secret of Cardillac's misdeeds. I wish 
not, in defiance of the eternal power that veiled from 
the virtuous daughter, the frightful crimes of her beloved 
father, that the whole misery of the past should fall up- 
on her, and with its withering power should blast her 
future life for ever — that now the world's vengeance 
should tear up the corpse from the yet loose earth that 



110 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

covers it — and that now the executioner should brand 
with infamy his mouldering bones. — No! the beloved 
of my soul shall bewail me as an innocent sacrifice. 
Time will alleviate her sorrow, but unappeasable indeed 
would that soitow be, if it arose from the knowledge 
of the frightful — the hellish deeds of a beloved father!" 

Oliver was silent, and instantly a flood of tears gush- 
ed from his eyes; he threw himself at the feet of Ma- 
dame de Scuderi, and in an imploring voice cried: 
u Are you now convinced of my innocence? I am sure 
you are! Have compassion on me, and say how it is 
with Madelena ?" 

Madame de Senderi called to Maria the chamber- 
maid, and in a lew moments Madelena was lying on 
the boeom of her affectionate and unfortunate Oliver. 
" Now all is well — all is well, since thou art here;" 
said Madelena, " I knew of a certainty that the worthy 
lady would save thee!" How often these sentiments 
were repeated it is useless to say, but Oliver forgot in 
the joy and exultation of that moment, his fate, the 
miseries, and the death that now threatened him — he 
was free — he was happy. 

Both mourned over what they had already suffered 
for each other, in a manner that did not fail to draw 
tears from those that gazed at their affectionate 
meeting — they embraced each other again and again, 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. Ill 

and wept for joy that they had once more been per- 
mitted to see each other. 

Had not de Scuderi been already fully convinced of 
the innocence of Oliver Brusson, the scene that was 
transacted before her would of itself have amply proved 
it, for she beheld two individuals in the blessedness of 
the closest bond of love, forgetting the world, their 
misery, and all the nameless sorrows which threatened 
their future fortunes. "No!" exclaimed de Scuderi, 
" a pure heart alone is capable of such happy forgetful- 
ness!" 

The bright beams of the morning had broken 
through the window of the apartment, w T hen Desgrais 
tapped lightly at the door, to remind de Scuderi that it 
was now time to carry away Oliver Brusson — for if he 
was to return to prison unseen, that could not be much 
later accomplished. — The lovers were obliged to se- 
parate. 



CHAPTER XI. 



"Pwai by this hand the hoary villain fell, — 
And know, instead of feeling dire compunction 
For the bloody act, I glory in the deed ! 

Old Plui/. 



Tun gloomy fuitbudillg with which Madame de Scu- 
deri wa> impressed from the first entrance of Brusson 
into her house, had DOW in a most frightful manner, 
assumed a living form. She saw the son of her beloved 
Anne innocent, but entangled in such a manner, that 
it appeared impossible to save him from a shameful 
death. She honoured the heroism of the young man, 
who would rather die laden with guilt, than betray a 
secret which must bring death upon his Madelena. 
In the whole range of possibility, she could find out no 
mode whereby to tear the unfortunate Oliver from the 
hands of the terrible Chambre Ardente; but still she 
was determined to make every sacrifice to avert, or at 
least to suspend the fearful punishment which seemed 
ready to fall upon the head of the devoted prisoner. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 113 

She tortured herself with many schemes, and even 
with plans which touched upon the marvellous, but 
they were all as quickly abandoned as conceived. Eve- 
ry glimpse of hope gradually disappeared, so that at 
length, she was almost on the brink of despair. But 
Madelena's unbounded girlish confidence; the exalted 
manner in which she talked of her lover's exculpation, 
and of him embracing her as his affectionate wife, urged 
de Scuderi again to the task, convinced as she was of 
the justice of the cause. 

In order to do something, de Scuderi wrote a long 
letter to La Regnie, in which she told him, that Oli- 
ver Brusson had proved to her in the most satisfactory 
manner, his complete innocence of the death of Car- 
dillac ; and that only the heroic resolution of carrying 
a secret to his grave, the discovery of which, would be 
alike destructive to innocence and virtue, now prevent- 
ed him from making a complete confession before the 
judges, — a confession which would not only free him 
from the horrible suspicion of having murdered his 
master, but of having belonged to the band of murder- 
ers. All that warm feeling and powerful eloquence 
could do, de Scuderi made use of to soften the hard 
heart of La Regnie. 

In the course of a few hours the president replied, 
that lie was heartily pleased that Oliver Brusson had 



114 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

so completely succeeded with his able and worthy 
judge — but with respect to Oliver's heroic resolution, 
to carry with him a secret to the grave relative to the 
deed in question, he was extremely sorry that the 
Chambre Ardente could not respect such heroism, 
hut must endeavour to break it by the most powerful 
means. In three days he hoped to be in possession 
of the strange secret, which doubtless would tend to 
bring many wonderful and inexplicable deeds to light. 

De Scnderi knew too well what the frightful La Reg- 
nie meant by the means whereby he should break the 
heroism of Bresson. It was now evident that the tor- 
ture hang over the head of this unfortunate man. In 
her extreme anxiety about his fate, it occurred to de 
Scnderi, that to gain some delay, die advice of a law- 
yer might be serviceable. Pierre Arnaud D'Andilly 
•fas then the most celebrated advocate in Paris. His 
profound knowledge and acute understanding were on- 
ly equalled by bis integrity and virtue. To him de 
Scuderi went, and related every thing that was possi- 
ble for her to do, without revealing Brusson's secret. 
She confidently believed, that D'Andilly would take 
up the cause of the innocent man with alacrity, but 
alas! her hopes were most grievously disappointed. 

The advocate heard every thing with calmness and 
attention, and then said in B'oileaus words: " Le vrai 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 115 

petit quelquefois rietre pas vraisemblable" — He shew- 
ed to de Scuderi, that there lay the strongest grounds 
of suspicion against Oliver, — that La Regnie's proce- 
dure could not in any way be called harsh or over- 
stretched; nay was perfectly legal, and moreover, that 
he could not have treated the matter in any other man- 
ner without violating his duty as a judge. That he 
(D'Andilly), could not conceive the least apology that 
could be offered for saving the accused from the torture : 
Oliver could only present this by an open confession, 
or at least by a most minute relation of the circu in- 
stances attendant upon the murder of Cardillac, which 
might perhaps enable the Chambre Ardente to detect 
the guilty." 

" Then I must throw myself at the feet of his Majes- 
ty, and implore his favour," said de Scuderi, almost 
overpowered, and half-choked by tears and sobs. 

" Do not do so," cried D' Andilly, " do not do so, 
for heaven's sake! — Reserve this last resource, for should 
that prove ineffectual, all is lost. The king will never 
pardon a crime of such a nature — the bitter reproaches 
of the endangered populace would prevent him. It is 
possible, that Brusson by the discovery of his secret or 
otherwise, may find means to take away the suspicion 
which is now so Strong against him. It will then be 
the time to implore the pardon of the king, who unbi- 



110 MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

assed by the legal proceedings of the Chambrc Ardentc, 
will consult his own inward conviction. De Scuderi 
must needs yield to the experienced and skilful Advo- 
cate." 

While sunk in deep distress, thinking what could 
now he done to save the unfortunate Brusson from the 
torture and the scaffold. Madame de Scuderi was 
startled from her midnight musings by the entrance of 
Maria, who came to announce, the count de Miossens, 
colonel of the king's guard, who anxiously wished to 
speak to her ladyship. 

" Pardon me," said Miossens, bowing with all mili- 
tary respect, " pardon me for troubling you at so late, 
and BO Unseasonable an hour; we soldiers do not act like 
the world, but in two words I expect to be forgiven — 
Oliver Brnsaofl sent me to you!" 

De Scuderi much interested at what she now was 
about to discover, exclaimed: "Oliver Brusson — the 
most unfoitunate of all mankind, what have you to do 
with him : 

" I thought," replied the colonel, with a smile, " that 
the name of your protege would procure for me your 
ladyship's particular attention. The whole world is 
convinced of Brusscn's guilt. I know that you are of 
a different opinion, which can only be founded on the 
asseverations of the accused. With me it is otherwise. 



MADAME BE SCUDERI. U7 

Nobody can be better convinced of Oliver's innocence 
in regard to Cardillac's murder than myself." 

<* Speak, oh speak," cried de Scuderi, while her eyes 
beamed with joy. 

''- 1," said Miossens, with emphasis, " It was I, my- 
self who struck down the old goldsmith in the Rue St. 
Honore at your very door!" 

" By all the saints," cried de Scuderi, "you — you?" 

" And," continued the colonel, " I confess to you, 
I am proud of my deed ! Know that Cardillac was 
one of the basest and most hypocritical of villains, who 
during the night secretly robbed and murdered, and so 
long escaped every snare that was laid. I cannot tell 
you how it occurred to me, but suspicion arose in my 
mind against the old villain; when full of visible disquie- 
tude, he brought me a set of jewels which I had order- 
ed, and when I found he had made most minute en- 
quiries for whom these jewels were intended, and with 
the most skilful cunning, drew from my servants the 
hour I was in the habit of visiting a certain lady. It 
had long struck me that the unfortunate victims of this 
most horrible rapacity bore the precisely similar wounds. 
I was therefore certain, that the murderer who could 
thus kill in an instant, with one dagger-stroke, must 
be a practised proficient, and could always reckon upon 
its success. Be that as it may — I was determined that 



118 MADAME DE SCUDE1U. 

with ine, the combat should be on equal terms. Tliib 
made me make use of a mode of prevention, which 
was so simple, that I can hardly conceive how others 
did not avail themselves of it, and save themselves from 
the threatened murder. I wore merely a light breast- 
plate under my rest — Cardillac attacked me from be- 
hind — he seized me with gigantic power, but the sure 
aimed blow glided off the iron, and at that moment I 
struck my dagger, which 1 had in readiness, into his 
heart." 

11 And why," said de Scuderi, " and why are you 
silent; why have you not informed the judges what 

you have done;" 

" Permit inc" Baid Miossens, " permit me again to 
remark, that though Bach a disclosure would not pre- 
cisely criminate me, it would still entangle me in the 
most frightful of processes! Had La Regnie, fearing 
ciime in every action, believed he had discovered it in 
me; could I have accused the honest Cardillac, the 
model of piety and virtue, of the attempted murder? — 
If the sword of justice had been directed against me, 
could I have parried its point?" 

" Certainly," cried de Scuderi, " your birth, your 
station in society." 

" Oh, ? ' continued the colonel, " think on the Mar- 
shal de Luxemburg, whom the mere circumstance of 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. H9 

consulting Le Sage's horoscope brought down upon his 
head the suspicion of being a poisoner, and doomed 
him to the Bastile. No, by St. Dionysius, I would not 
trust an hour's freedom, or the very tip of my ear to 
the violent La Regnie, who would most willingly put 
his knife to our throats." 

" But," interrupted de Scuderi, a would you then 
bring the innocent Brusson to the scaffold?" 

" Innocent," replied Miossens, " innocent! — call 
you the accomplice of the villanous Cardillac innocent? 
The man who stood by him in his deeds of blood ? — 
who has deserved death an hundred times? — No, in- 
deed, in strict justice he should bleed; and I make this 
discovery to you, most worthy lady, of my connection 
in the matter, merely that you may disclose my secret 
to the Chambre Ardente, without my being called to 
appear at all, and not that it should benefit in any way 
your protege Brusson !" 



CHAPTER XII. 



Mv good Lord ! 

1 crave a second grace for tin's approach; 
Bat ycf let not toy bumble zeal offend 
\\y its alunptness — all it hath of ill 
EteCOill on me; its good in the etVeet 

May Ught upon your head — conld I say Imut — 

Could I touch that, with words or prayers I should 

Ive.all a nol.le spirit which hath wandered; 
lint L| not yet all lost. 

Byron* t Manfred. 



Madame de Scuderi rejoiced to find that her convic- 
tion of Brusson's innocence now rested upon such de- 
cisive evidence; she did not hesitate to discover to 
Miossens every thing that she had learnt concerning 
Cardillac's crimes, and at the same time to request him 
to accompany her to D'Andilly's. To the Advocate 
under the seal of secrecy all was told, that he might 
give counsel upon what ought to he done. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 121 

D'Andilly, after Madame de Scuderi had detailed 
to him every particular, put several minute questions; 
among many others he asked the Count Miossens, 
whether he was firmly convinced that he was attacked 
by Cardillac, and whether he could again recognise 
Oliver Brusson as the person who dragged away the bo- 
dy. The Colonel replied, " That besides being certain 
that it was the Goldsmith who attacked me, I have al- 
so seen in La Regnie's possession the very dagger with 
which Cardillac was slain That dagger is mine — dis- 
tinguishable as it is by the elegant work of the handle. 
And as to the young man, as we only stood about a 
pace asunder I observed every feature of his face, more 
particularly perhaps as his hat had fallen off. I would 
know him again any where." 

The Advocate looked in silence a moment on the 
ground and then said: " Brusson is not to be saved 
in any common way from the hands of justice, he will 
for Madelena's sake not call her father an assassin — but 
yet though he should do so, and prove it by the disco- 
very of the secret entrance to his house ; and by the col- 
lected treasures, still he would be given up to death as 
an accomplice. The situation would be similar, should 
the Count Miossens discover to the judges the whole 
affair with the Goldmsith as it really happened. — De- 
lay is all that can be obtained, and the Colonel should 
Q 



122 MADAME DE SCUDEKI. 

go to the Conciergerie, order Oliver Brusson to be 
brought before him, and recognise him as the person 
who dragged away the body of Rene Cardillac. He 
must then proceed to La Regnie, and say: < In the 
Rue St Honore 1 saw a man murdered. I stood quite 
close to the body, when another man sprang forward, 
bent over the body, and while there were still evident 
ml: ns of life, raised it upon his shoulders and then dragg- 
ed it away. I have discovered that man to be Oliver 
Brusson. This evidence of the Count will coincide 
perfectly with repealed declarations of the accused. 
Enough — the torture will be given up and further en- 
quiries will be made. Then it will be time to turn to 
the K iiiLr. To your ingenuity Madame de Scuderi must 
this be left to be accomplished. In my opinion it would 
be well to discover tlie whole secret to his Majesty. 
By the evidence of Count Miossens, Oliver's confess- 
ion will be supported, and this perhaps may be corro- 
borated by a secret examination of Cardillac's house. 
No law, but merely the King's decision, founded upon 
inward conviction, (which may plead for mercy, even 
when the judge would be obliged to punish,) can ac- 
complish what we want." 

Count Miossens followed implicitly what the advo- 
cate ordered, and every thing really happened as he had 
predicted. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 123 

It was now necessary to go to the King, and this was 
the most difficult point to manage, for his Majesty had 
taken up such a horrid opinion against Brusson, whom 
he considered as the frightful murderer who had kept 
all Paris so long in anxiety and terror, that he always 
betrayed the greatest an^er, when even the slightest al- 
lusion was made to the process. 

De Maintenon faithful to her principle of not speak- 
ing to his Majesty, on subjects disagreeable to him, 
threw up all participation in the matter, and conse- 
quently the fate of Brusson was left wholly in the hands 
of de Scuderi. 

After a long meditation, she adopted the following 
project, almost as soon as it offered itself to her mind. 
She arrayed herself in a black mourning dress, de- 
corated herself with the costly ornaments of Cardillac, 
cast over her head a large black veil, and appeared thus 
in the apartments^f Madame de Maintenon, at the time 
the King was in the habit of going thither. The noble 
figure of the worthy lady in this imposing attire, had a 
majesty about it which did not fail to awaken profound 
respect, even from the idlers that are accustomed to oc- 
cupy the antichambers of a palace. Every one stood 
back as she entered, and the King himself arose in great 
astonishment and advanced to meet her. The brilliant 
diamonds of the necklace and armlets struck his eye 



IS! MADAMK 1)K SGUDEBL 

and lie exclaimed: M By the holy Dionysius these arc 
the ornaments of Rene Cardillac!" And then turning 
to de Maintonon added with a pleasing smile : kk Sec 
how our fairhride mourns tor her lost lover." 

\\.\ _racious Hr*l" -aid do Scnderi, continuiiiLT 

the jest, "how would it become ft sorrowful bride to 
be bo splendidly arrayed? — No, 1 have renounced the 
Goldsmith entirely, and would, it' possible, think no 

more AboOt him, and trust that the horrid scene which 
OllCe transacted before me, when as a murdered 
corpse fie was home away by the officers of justice. 
niiiv not often haunt mv mind !" 

• I i 'I the Kin-, "how — you saw him 

then poor wtvt< h ':" 

l)e Scnderi related in a few words, how accident 
(-he did not mention Bnieton'l connection with it 
however ) had bfOUgbl her before the house of the Gold- 
smith, just as the murder was discovered. She 
painted Madelena 's wild affliction, the deep i ttyS S 
mm which the angelic child had made upon her, the 
manner hy which she saved the poor girl, amid the 
plaudits of the people, from the licentious hands ot 
Des-rais and his - — with increasing interest 

she described the scenes she had with La Regnie — 
witli Desgraifl — with Oliver Brmsoia himself. The 
King, carried away by the powei ot d€ Scnderi's life 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 125 

glowing descriptions, observed not that she talked of 
the hateful process, and of the horrid Brusson, was in- 
capable of pronouncing a word, and could only give 
vent to his inward emotion by exclamations. Before 
he was aware, wrapt up as he was with the unheard of 
deeds which he had discovered, and ere he was able to 
form his opinion of the matter, Madame de Scuderi 
had fallen at his feet, and was imploring mercy towards 
Oliver Brusson. 

" What are you doing?" cried he, while he seized 
her with both hands and raised her to her chair, " What 
are you doing? you have taken me singularly by sur- 
prise! That is indeed a dreadful story! — Who an- 
swers for the truth of the wonderful tale of Oliver 
Brusson ?" 

Madame de Scuderi instantly replied, " The declar- 
ation of Count Miossens — the examination of Cardillacs 
house — inward conviction — Madelena's virtuous heart, 
which discerns similar virtue in that of the unfortunate 
prisoner I" 

The King was about to reply, when he was attracted 
by a bustle about the door of the apartment. Louvois, 
who had been transacting business in an adjoining 
apartment, looked in with a face that betokened aston- 
ishment and anxiety, which the King no sooner ob- 
served than he left the room. 



126 MADAME DE SCUDEIU. 

Both de Maiutenon and de Scaderi considered tlin, 
interruption dangerous, for once taken by surprise, the 
King might DC cautions of falling a second time into 
Bad) ;i situation. A tew minutes bad scarcely elapsed 
before his Majesty returned again to the apartment, 
walked hurriedly up and down the room, and at last 
Stopping short] with his hands behind bis hack, opposite 

to where de Scuderi was Bitting, said in a low voice, 

and with averted eve, " I should wish to see your Ma- 

delena!" 

De Scnderi no sooner heard the King s requeet than 

she replied: *-.\iy | racious Sire, what great — what 

infinite joy you are ronchaaving to the poor — the un- 

fortunate *_r 1 1 1 — your nod is all that is necessary to Hee 

the youthful Madelena at your feet," and tripping as 
quickly as her long mourning drees could permit, to the 
dour of the chamber] cried out: M The king would see 

Ma<!rlrna Cardillac." and then returned testifying her 

i<e> by a shower of tears* 

De Scuderi had anticipated such a favor, and had 

therefore brought .Madelena along with her to the pa- 
lace. She had been left in the room of the Marchio- 
neae's female attendant, and waited there with a short 
petition in her hand which was drawn up hy d'Andilly. 
In a few minutes after the call of de Scuderi, Na- 
na lay at the feet of the Kin^. Anxiety, fern. 



MADAME DE SCUDERT. 127 

bashfulness, love, and sorrow, impelled the blood quick- 
er and quicker through the veins of the trembling maid. 
Her cheeks glowed with the deepest purple — her eyes 
beamed through pearly tears, which, falling now and 
then through silken eyelashes dropt upon her palpita- 
ting and snowy bosom. 

The King seemed struck with the singular beauty of 
this angelic creature. — He raised her softly up, and 
then made a motion as if to kiss the hand he had seized. 
He quitted it, however, and looked at the simple love- 
liness of Madelena with an eye which vainly struggled 
against tears and betokened feelings of the deepest 
emotion. 

De Maintenon whispered to de Scuderi, " Don't you 
think the little creature bears a striking resemblance to 
la Valliere? The King indulges the fondest recollec- 
tions; — your game is won!" 

Although Madame de Maintenon said this in a low 
voice, yet it appeared that his Majesty had noticed it. 
A blush suffused his face, his eye strayed towards the 
Marchioness, he read the petition which Madelena pre- 
sented to him, and said with a mildness indicative of 
favor ; I can easily believe that you are convinced of 
the innocence of your lover, but we must hear what 
the Chambre Ardente has to say to it!" 

A slight motion of the hand told Madelena to depart. 



MADAMS l)i: SCCDSmil 

her lovely eye9 swimming in tears. De Scnderi ob- 
se r ved with alarm that the remembrance of la Val- 
lieri which at the first appeared to be of advantage to 
her CVD8, had changed the King's mind as soon as de 
Maintenon had whispered that 01106 well-loved name. 
Might it be t lint the monarch felt himself reminded of 
it in ■ manner somewhat indelicate— that he was in the 
of sacrificing stern justice at the ihrine of beauty — or 
perhaps- that it BUS with him as with the dreamer, who 
when harshly and suddenly awakened) sees the fcfory 
forms which he wu just about clasping to his bosom, 

thu^ tost and dissipated? Perhaps he now saw before 

him, no longer his lovely la \ alliere, but only thought 
on tl Louisa de la Misericofde,* who grieved 

him with her piety and her penance? 

In the meantime the declaration of Count Mfossens 

»re the Chambn Ardente had become known, and as 
it is g e ner ally the case, that the populace are easily 
carried from one extreme to mother, so it happened 

that those who at BrSl bad CUTSed BlUSSOn as the ba*es4 

of murderer^, and who threatened to tear him in pieces 
were now. even before be had been doomed to the scaf- 
fold, bewailing him as an innocent victim to a barbar- 



La Va\ ■■■■' - cloister name in th»« nunnery of the Car- 
melites. 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 129 

ous justice. For the first time the neighbours remem- 
bered his virtuous behaviour, — his fondness for Ma- 
delena — the respect — the fidelity — the honor which he 
testified to the old Goldsmith. 

Crowds of people often appeared in a threatening 
attitude before la Regnie's palace, crying ; " Give us 
Oliver Brusson — he is innocent ;" and not unfrequently 
threw stones at the windows, so that the President was 
under the necessity of calling in the assistance of the 
Police to protect himself against the anger of the en- 
raged populace. 



CHAPTEB XIII. 



Flail. ' ■ brisker, merrier gle< 

I in- door unfolds, — 'tis be, 'tis be 

I hill Wt lift our lainj>> to in. .t liim, 

Thus ire tou< h our lutee to greet bias. 
Thou vhait give ■ fonder meeting; 
Thou "Malt give ■ U Dderer greeting* 

AfUman't Fall ofMniwUm. 



S dayi bad passed over without .Madame de 

having beard any thing of Oliver Brasson's 

process. Almost hopeless she went to de Maintenon, 

who assnrod ber thai the Kinu r was totally silent on the 
matter, and never upon any occasion, b e tr ay ed the 
Blighted remembrance of it. The Marcbioneei then 
naked with ■ singular sort of smile, what the little Val- 
liere was doing. From thii de Scuderi was fully con- 
rinced thai there raged a secret anger in the bosom oi 
this proud lady, at the circumstance which could have 
produced such a powerful im press ion upon the King; 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 131 

the magic power of which was far above her compre- 
hension. From de Maintenon therefore, de Scuderi 
could hope for nothing. 

At length with the assistance of d'Andilly, Madame 
de Scuderi discovered that the King had had a long 
interview with the Count Miossens; that Bontems, 
his Majesty's most trusty attendant, had been in the 
Conciergerie and had spoken with the unfortunate 
prisoner, and that, in fine, Bontems, accompanied by 
several others, had one night visited the house of the 
Goldsmith, and had spent a considerable time in its ex- 
amination. Claude Patru, also the occupant of the 
lower floor, vowed that he had heard footsteps during 
the whole night, and was certain that Oliver was there, 
as he thought he recognised his voice. It appeared 
also, that the King himself examined into the minute 
particulars of the matter, but yet the long delay which 
he had shown of coming to a decision was unaccounta- 
ble and dangerous. La Regnie probably was trying 
by all the means in his power to hold firmly in his 
clutches what w r as about to be torn from him. The 
very idea of such a thing destroyed the fair hopes 
that had arisen in the mind of Oliver's assiduous advo- 
cate. 

A month had almost elapsed when de Maintenon 
said to de Scuderi that his Majesty wished to see her 



MADAME DE SCUDBRL 
at the Palace in the evening. Her heart heat higbj 

she knew that Brooeon'i case was now at length decid- 
ed. She odd bo to the poor Madelena, who earnestly 

implored the Vllgin and all the saints to awaken in the 
KiiiL r ^ boeom a conviction of the innocence of her un- 
fortunate lover. 

On her arrival at the Palace, it seemed however, 
that the kiii_ r had forgotten the matter which the was 
so interested in. for, as on former occasion^, lie was ta- 
ken op entirely with that ml of light and gey converse 

which he was in the hahit of holding with de Mainte- 
tmn and <!•■ Scuderi. He mentioned not a syllahle of 

poot Bmaeoa. Bontemij however, at length appeared* 

and approaching the Kin-, v ;i id BOflW words into his 
• •ar, hni in BUCh a low voice as to he unheard hv both 

Indies* 

DeScoderi trembled throughout her whole frame. 
The King rose up and idftacngtewiNhi her ladyship, 

-aid with a look delight, "I Irish your lady- 

ship joy; poor protege, Oliver Bneaoiij i- free." 

De Scndrri. unahle to -peak, and while tears flowed 

from her eyes, attempted to throw beneM at the feet of 

the Kintr. But he prevented her hy saying, u (io, go, 
vim sliall he my Parliament Advocate, and plead for 
my rights, for hy the holy Diony-ius no man on earth 

could panel your eloquence; but," added he. with mere 



MADAME DE SCUDERI. 133 

earnestness, " but still remember that even those whom 
Virtue takes under its pure protection, may not be alto- 
gether secure from some base suspicion in the eyes of 
the Chambre Ardente, or any other court of justice in 
the world." 

De Scuderi at length found words, and expressed 
her thanks in the most glowing terms. The King in- 
terrupted her by saying that she herself awaited much 
more ardent acknowledgements than what he could 
expect to receive from her, for at that very moment, 
probably, the happy Oliver was clasping to his bosom 
his affectionate Madelena. 

" Bontems," cried the King, " Bontems shall pay 
your ladyship a thousand louis d'ors, which give in my 
name to the fair maid as her bridal gift. Let her be 
married to Brusson, the object of her choice, who 
scarcely deserves such a treasure, but let them quit 
Paris immediately — this is my will." 

Maria ran to meet her mistress on the threshold, be- 
hind her was Baptiste ; the countenances of both were 
beaming with joy, and both exclaimed, " He is free! 
he is frei! — oh the happiness of the young couple." 

The delighted pair fell down at the feet of de Scud- 
eri. " I always felt that you, that you alone would 
save my husband," cried Madelena, while Oliver ex- 



KM MADAME DE SCUDERI. 

claimed, "Oh yes, in you my confidence wu firmly 
fixed) — my more than mother." 

The loren kissed die hands of the worthy lady, 
amid tears of grateful acknowledgement; and then, 
embracing each other, declared that the celestial joy of 

that moment, had cancelled all (he nameless sorrows 
of the past 

In a tew days they were united hv the blessing of 
tlie priest ; and although it had not been the will of his 
Majesty that Brusson should quit the capital, he could 

not li'mi-i It have remained in a place where everv thing 

reminded him <>t' the horrid period of Cardillae'i crimes 
— irhere accident might reveal the lecrel which he fain 
wmild conceal, — a lecrel the public discovery of which 
would destroy the bappineai of his future life. 

Immediately alter tin- marriage, lie BOl 0U1 with his 

young wife to Geneva, accompanied by the blearing of 
Madame de ScuderL Richly endowed with Madele- 
na'i bridal pre se nt , be devoted himself to business with 
alar diligence, and being besides, endowed with 
every civil virtue, be p as s e d a life replete with bappi- 

I, and void of every care. The hopes which had 

deceived his father, were fully realised by him. 

Scarcely a year had passed since the departure of 
Brusson tor Genera, when a proclamation, signed by 
Harley de Chamvalon, Archbishop of Paris, and by 



MADAME DE SCUDERL 135 

Pierre Arnaud d'Andilly, Parliament Advocate, was 
issued, of the following contents, that a repentant sin- 
ner, under the seal of holy confession, had given up a 
rich robbed treasure of jewels and ornaments, that any 
one who, previous to the end of the year 1680, had 
been robbed in the open streets of any ornament, should 
immediately make themselves known to d'Andilly, and 
that provided the description of the lost jewel should 
agree with the ornaments now in his possession, and 
there be no objections to the legality of the claimant, 
the jewel would be instantly givenjup to its rightful 
owner. 

Many whose names were in Cardillac's list, as hav- 
ing been only knocked down and plundered resorted 
to the house of the Parliament Advocate, and received 
back, with no small astonishment, the ornaments which 
they supposed they had lost for ever. The rest were 
given to the treasury of the church of St. Eustasius. 



THE 



DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE, 



BY 



FREDERICK SCHILLER. 



Good name in man and woman, dear my lord, 
Is the immediate jewel of their souls : 
And he that filehes from me my good name, 
Robs me of that which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. 

Shakespeare, 



THE 



DISHONOURED IRRECLAIMABLE. 



There is not a chapter in the history of human nature, 
more instructive both to the heart and understanding, 
than that which records our errors. Wherever a great 
crime has been committed, a power proportionally great 
has been in operation; and although the secret play of 
the passions may not be discoverable by the paler light 
of ordinary feelings, till in the case of more powerful 
excitement, it becomes loud, prominent, and colossal. 
The nice observer of human nature, who knows how far 
we may reckon on the ordinary operation of free will, 
and to what extent we may go in reasoning by analo- 
gy, will extract many a lesson of morality from this 
province of the science of mind. 

The human heart is so uniform and yet so complex, 
one and the same propensity or desire may operate in 
a thousand different forms and directions, produce a 



140 iiie DISHONOURED 

thousand contrary effects, appear variously compound- 
ed in a thousand different shades, and a thousand dis- 
similar characters and actions may proceed from it, 

even when the person in question suspects nothing less 

than the existence of SUCh a connexion. Should there 

ever rise up for the science of man, as for the other 
departments of natural knowledge, a Linneus, to class 

mankind according to their inclinations ami propensi- 
ties, what astonishment would he felt, at finding many 
a one whose vices are now stilled in the contracted 
sphere of private lite, and within the narrow pale of 

laws, placed in the same, order with the infamous 
Borgia* 

With these considerations in new, many an objec- 
tion may be made to the usual mode of treatini: histo- 
ry, and bare, I rasped lies the cause, which has hither- 
to rendered the study of history productive of so little 

effect on private life Betwixt the excited reelings of 
a man who performs aa action, and the tranquil state 

of the reader before whom that action is depicted, there 
intervenes s () wide a distance, that it is difficult, nay 
Impossible for the latter even to Lruess at the connec- 
tion betwixt the action ami the state of mind which 
produced it. There remains a vacuity hetwixt the 
subject of history and the reader, which cuts off all 
possibility of comparison or profit, and produces not 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 141 

that wholesome fear, which warns against the over-se- 
curity of health, but only a stare of wonder. We look 
upon the unfortunate person, who in the hour in which 
he did the deed, as well as in that in which he atoned 
for it, was a human being like ourselves, — we look up- 
on him as a creature of another kind, whose blood cir- 
culates differently from our own, whose will obeys dif- 
ferent laws from ours: we sympathize but little in his 
fate, for sympathy is always founded on a shadowy con- 
sciousness of similarity of danger, and we are far from 
even dreaming of such a similarity. The instruction 
and the connexion are lost together; and history, in- 
stead of being a school of education, must rest satisfied 
with the paltry acquisition of power over our curiosity. 
If she would do something more, and attain her grand 
object, then she must choose betwixt these two me- 
thods — either the reader must be made warm like the 
hero, or the hero must be made cold like the reader. 

I know that many of the best historians, of modern 
as well as of ancient times, have adopted the first mode, 
and have assailed the heart of their readers with mov- 
ing representations. But this manner is a usurpation 
of the writer, and offends against the free spirit of the 
republic of letters, to whom it alone belongs to sit in 
judgment: it is at the same time an infraction of the 
established law of boundaries, for this method belongs 



I l'i l III. DISHONOURED 

exclusively and peculiarly to the novelet and the poet ; 
only the latter mode then remains to the historian. 

The hem must become cold like the reader, or what 
is the same thin-, we must he made acquainted with 
him before he acts: we must see him not only perform 
the action, hut likewise will it. In his thoughts there 

lies infinitely more tor our observation, than in his ac- 
tions; Rod still more in the sources of his thoughts, 

than in the consequences of those actions* The soil of 

Vesuvius has been examined, to discover tin' cause of 
its lmrninj ; why shoold we beStOW less attention on B 
moral than on a physical phenomenon ': Why do we 

iint a equal degree of importance to the nature 

of the circumstances in which a particular individual 

was placed, until the collected fuel btinl into a flame 

within 1 — The enthusiast who loves the wonderful, 

would he charmed hy the novelty and the romance of 
BUCh an enquiry; the friend of truth seeks the cause of 

these explained facts. He seeks it in the unchange- 
able structure of the human soul, and in the varying 

circumstances which modified it from without, and in 

• he finds it with certainty. It s urp ris es him no 

longer in the same bed <>i Baith, where formerly none 

hut irholeeome herbs flourished, to see the poisonous 

hemlock thrive, and it excites no astonishment to find 
wisdom ami folly, virtue and vice, in the snue cradle. 



IRRECLAIMABLE 143 

Although I do not bring forward any of the ad- 
vantages which the science of mind devises from this 
mode of treating history, it deserves the preference for 
this reason alone, that it roots out the cruel scorn and 
proud security, with which untried and upright virtue 
usually looks down upon the fallen; that it encourages 
that mild spirit of toleration, without which no fugitive 
retraces his steps, no reconciliation between the law 
and the offender can take place, no tainted member of 
society can be saved from total destruction. 

Whether the criminal of whom I am now to speak, 
may have had a right to appeal to that spirit of tolera- 
tion, or whether he was truly lost past redemption, to 
the body of the state, I will not anticipate, but leave 
to the decision of the reader. To him our indulgence 
can no longer be of any avail — for he died by the hand 
of the executioner, but the detail of his vices may per- 
haps instruct mankind, and — it is possible the adminis- 
trators of justice also. 

Christian Wolf was the son of an Innkeeper in the 

village of T , and assisted his mother, his father 

being dead, till his twentieth year, in the cares of the es- 
tablishment. The Inn became unfrequented, and Wolf 
had many idle hours. Even while at school he was 
known as a waggish boy. Grown-up girls brought 
home complaints of his impertinencies, and the youth of 



144 THE DISHONOURED 

the village did homage to his inventive genius, Nature 

had done little fof his person;— a small unseemly figure, 
curly liair of a disagreeably dark colour, a broad flat nose, 

and a swollen upper lip, which (besides had been set 
awry bv the kick of a horse, ) Lrave a repulsive character 
to his countenance, w Inch made every woman avoid 
him, and atVorded rich food to the wit of his companions. 
He was resolved to obtain what WSJ denied him, — 
became be was disliked, he was determined to please. 
He became thoughtful, and persuaded himself he was 
in love. The girl whom he made choice of, treated 
him ill, be had reasons to fear that his rivals were more 
fortunate; but the gial was poor. A heart that re- 
mained shut to his pleadings, might perhaps span to 

his present-, but he himself was not rich, and the vain 
attempt to make his prosonts valuable, swallowed up 

even the little which be bad acquired in his unprofitable 

employment* loo idle and too thoughtless to support 

his falliiiLT fortune by business, too proud and also too 
weak to exchange the gentleman for the peasant, and 
to renounce that freedom which lie adored, for slavery 
which he hated, lie saw only one out-let for himself, — 
though thousands before and after him have adopted it 
with better success, — the out-let of stealing liomsthj. 
Ilis native village bordered upon a royal forest — he 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 145 

became a poacher, and the produce of his robbery went 
faithfully into the hands of his mistress. 

Among the lovers of Annette was Robert, an assis- 
tant huntsman to the Forester. He early remarked 
the advantage which the liberality of his rival had gained 
over him, and with envious eye sought the cause of this 
change. He appeared more frequently in the Sun, — 
this was the sign to the Inn, — and soon his watchful 
eye, sharpened by envy and jealousy, discovered the 
source whence all the money flowed. Not long before 
this time a severe edict against poaching had been re- 
newed, which condemned the transgressor to the house 
of correction. Robert was unwearied in his attempts 
to steal upon the secret paths of his enemy, and at 
length he succeeded in catching the unthinking poacher 
in the very act. Wolf was arrested, and the sacrifice 
of the whole of his little property was barely sufficient 
to provide a fine to enable him to escape the appointed 
punishment. 

Robert triumphed. His rival was beat off the field, and 
the beggar lost the good graces of Annette. Wolf knew 
his enemy, and this enemy was the fortunate possessor 
of his beloved. The oppressive feeling of want joined 
itself to offended pride, — necessity and jealousy united, 
rushed in upon his feelings, — hunger impelled him to 
go forth into the wide world; — revenge and passion 



Ltf mi: DISHONOURED 

held him fast He became for tbe second time a 
poacher; hut Roberts redoubled watchfulness ovei> 
reached him again. He now experienced the whole 
rigour of the law: for a* be had nothing more to give, 

he was scut to the house of correction in the capital. 

I lis year of punishment was now over; his passion 

by absence bad increased, and his daring spirit had risen 
under the freight of mi-tort iiiic. Scarcely had lie re- 
ceive! his freedom before he hurried tO his native place, 

to show himself to his Annette. He appeared^ and 
every one shunned him. Threatening necessity at 
length brought down his pride, and overcame his deli- 
cacy, — be presented Mnwlf to the rich of tbe place, 
and would willingly serve for day's wages. Tbe pea- 
sants shrugged their shoulders at the debilitated youth, 
the brawny forms of his powerful competitors supplanted 
him with his insensible patrons. He hazarded a last 

attempt. A situation is vacant, the last forlorn post of 

respectability — be offered himself as the herdsman of 
the village-common, but tbe peasants would not trust 
their swine to such a good-for-nothing wretch. Dis- 
appointed in all his projects, rejected on all sides, he 
became poacher tor the third time, and the third time 
lie had the misfortune to fall into the hands of his watch- 
ful enemy. 
Repetition had aggravated hi* guilt. The Judge* 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 147 

looked into the code of laws, but not one of them into 
the mind or habits of the accused; the mandate against 
poaching required solemn and exemplary punishment, 
and Wolf was doomed to have his back branded, with 
the figure of the gallows, and to work three years in 
the fortress. 

This period also expired, and he left his prison ; — 
but alas! how different from what he was when he 
went thither. Here a new epoch began in his life, let 
us listen to his own words, as he afterwards confessed 
to his spiritual counsellor and before the Judges : 

" I entered the fortress," said he, " a wanderer from 
the path of virtue, and left it a villain ; when I came 
to it, I still possessed something in the world that 
was dear to me, and my pride shrunk under my shame. 
When I was brought to the fortress, I was shut up with 
twenty-three prisoners, among whom two were mur- 
derers, and the rest were all notorious thieves and 
vagabonds. I was derided when I spoke of God, and 
urged to repeat the most shameful blasphemies against 
the Saviour. They sang to me the most lascivious 
songs, which I, a dissolute boy, listened to with disgust 
and horror, but what I saw practised put my modesty 
still more to the test. Not a day passed wherein some 
infamous transaction was not repeated, wherein some 
worse project was not devised. At the first I fled this 



14b mi. UISHONQ! KED 

society, and Blood aloof from their conversation as mucb 
}^ it \\a> in my power, but I required some creature 
\n keep me company, and the barbarity of my keepers 
had even refused me my dog. The labour was hard 
and tyrannical, my frame was weakly, I required as- 
sistance, nay I shall openly avow it, I required pity, 

and this I was obliged to purchase with the last remains 
of my conscience. 1 became at length familiar with 
the lowest of my SSSftciftteS, and by the last quarter of 
■ Year I had surpassed my teachers. 

" FrOU this time I panted for the day of my freedom, 
— I thirsted for revenge. All men hud injured me, for 
all H i : and happier than I was. I regarded 

nivself as the martyr of natural rights, and the victim 
of the law. With gnashing teeth I dragged my chains, 
when the sun rose behind the mountain upon which 
my prison stood: — a distant prospect is a double hell 

to a prisoner. 'Hie unbound breeze which whistled 
through the air-holes of my turret, and the swallow 
that jxrched itself upon the iron stannchel of mv grated 

low, appeared to he mocking me with their free- 
dom, and uiade my confinement the more dreadful. I 
then vowed implacable hatred upon all that assimilated 
itself to humanity, and what I vowed I have honestly 
kept. 

My rirst thought, BO soon as I saw myself at liberty. 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 149 

was my native village. Although there was little to be 
expected there for my future support, still my thirst for 
revenge promised itself much. My heart beat wilder 
when the church-tower rose in the distance from the 
surrounding wood. It was no longer that hearty joy 
which I had experienced on my first return. — The re- 
membrance of all the hardships, of all the persecutions 
which I formerly suffered there, were awakened at 
once from their horrid slumber of death. All my 
wounds bled anew, every scar was opened up afresh. 
I redoubled my pace. It refreshed me to anticipate 
the pleasure of terrifying my enemies by my sudden 
reappearance, and I thirsted even now as much after 
new humiliation, as I had formerly trembled at it. 

" The bells were ringing for vespers when I reached 
the centre of the market-place. The people were 
flocking to church. I was quickly recognised, — every 
one who met me started back with horror. I had had 
from my earliest years a peculiar fondness for children, 
and something now involuntarily impelled me to offer a 
groschen to a boy that amused himself near me; the 
boy stared at me for a moment, and threw the piece of 
money in my face. Had my blood been only somewhat 
calmer, I might have recollected that the beard which I 
had brought with me from the Fortress disfigured the 
features of my face even to frightfulness, — but my 



IM THE DISHONOURED 

tricked heart had poisoned my reason, and tears, such 

as I had never shed, fell over my cheeks. 

M The hoy knows nol who I am, nor whence I come, 
said I to myself, and yet he avoids me, like a heast of 
prey. Am I then marked upon the brow, or have J 
Ceased to hear the semblance of a man since 1 feel J 
can no longer he-tow on him my affection? Tbt con- 
tempt of this boy pained me more bitterly than my 

three years' slavery, for I had done him a favour, and 
could charge him with no personal hatred. 

I -it down in a w ood-yard opposite the church; 
I knew iiu; precisely what I wanted, hut I still know 

that I rose up much exasperated, when of all my ac- 
quaintances that passed, not one had deigned to salute 
me, — not ■ >• • Indignantly I left my station, to seek out 
for a lodging, when on taming the corner of a street, 

I came in contact with my Annette. - Host of the 
Sun!' cried she, in aloud v< ice, and made amotion BJ 
if to embrace me. • Thou hack again, dear host of the 
Sun. God he praised that thou art returned!' Her 

dre-- md misery, her countenance bad 

a shameful sickliness in it, and her look announced the 
abandoned creature to which she mraa reduced. I in- 
stantly guessed what had happened; some of the 
Prince's dragoons, which I bad just encountered, 
gested the idea of a garrison in the village; 'a soldier^ 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 151 

trull/ cried I, and laughing, turned my back upon her. 
I felt happy that yet one creature was below me in the 
rank of the living. I had never loved her! 

" My mother was dead. — My creditors had been 
paid with my small house; I had neither friend nor pro- 
perty remaining. All the world shunned me as some- 
thing poisonous, but I had at last forgotten to be asham- 
ed. Formerly I had avoided the look of men, because 
contempt was to me intolerable. Now I pressed forward 
and was delighted when I could terrify them. I was 
happy I had nothing more to lose and nothing more to 
guard. I required nc good quality any longer, because 
none was any longer expected from me. 

" The whole world lay open before me. I might 
probably have passed in some foreign province for an 
honest man, but I had lost the heart even to appear so. 
Despair and shame had at last forced this feeling on 
me. My last subterfuge was to learn to do without 
honour, because I dared no longer lay claim to any. 
Had my vanity and my pride survived my humiliation, 
I must have ended my existence with my own hand. 

" What I had resolved to do henceforth, was as yet, 
unknown to myself. I wished to do evil, — of this much 
I have still the obscure recollection. I wished to deserve 
my fate; the laws, thought I, are beneficial to the world, 
therefore I determined to violate them I had for- 



HE 1I1K DISHONOURED 

merly transgressed from thoughtlessness and necessity, 

1 now did so out of free choice, for my own pleasure. 

M My first plan was to prosecute my poaching — hunt- 
ing in general, had by degrees become a passion in mr , 

and beeidoe, I must live, lmt tins w;is not all; it 
pleased me much to hold in derision the Princely 
edict, and to injure my sovereign in spite of all his 

powers. 1 eared no longer about being seined, fof 1 

had now a gun rrad\ tor my detector, and ] know too 
that niv sh(»t would not misi its aim. I killed all the 

gauss J mr, ;i little only of it I sold on the frontiers, 

the greater part was lefl to rot where it fell. 1 lived 

parsimoniously that 1 might hear the expense of now* 
«ler and shot 'The destruction of the larger game be- 
came notorious, hut upon me suspicion no longer fell; 
— my look extinguished it. My name was forgotten. 
M 1 followed this tort of lite tor several months; one 
morning according to usual practice, I had roamed 

through the wood, following the track of a Stag. lor 

two hours I hid wearied myself in vain, and had begun 

already to give Dp my prize a- lost, when all at once 

I discovered it within shot, directly before me* I will 
kill it and cany it away, thought I, — thesightofa hat 
which lay upon the ground a tew paces before me, 

suddenly terrified me. 1 looked more narrowly, and 
recognised the huntsman Robert, who behind the thick 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 153 

trunk of an oak, was now aiming at the stag for which 
my shot was destined. A deadly chill ran through my 
frame at the sight. He was just the man among all 
living heings whom I hated most, and this man was 
placed in the power of my rifle. At this moment it 
seemed to me as if the whole world lay in my shot, 
and the hatred of my whole life had concentrated itself 
on the trigger with which I could accomplish the mur- 
derous deed. An invisible frightful hand pressed upon 
me ; the finger of my destiny irrevocably pointed to this 
dark moment. My arm trembled, when I permitted 
my gun to take its terrible choice — my teeth gnashed 
together as in the chill of an ague, and my breath re- 
mained motionless in my lungs. The level of my rifle 
remained a minute wavering betwixt the man and the 
stag— a minute — then another — and another. Con- 
science and Revenge struggled hard and doubtfully, 
but revenge proved victorious, and the huntsman lay 
dead upon the ground. 

" My gun fell with the shot — ' murderer,' muttered I 
slowly — the forest was as silent as a church-yard — I 
heard distinctly that I had articulated ' murderer.' — 
When I stepped nearer, the man expired. I stood a 
long time speechless by the corpse, but at length a loud 
laugh burst from me. ' Wilt thou now cease to tell 

tales, worthy friend?' said I, stepping boldly up, while 

U 



M THE DISHONOURED 

I at the same time turned round the faro of the hunts- 
man. Hi^ ryes stood wide open — instantly I became 
gnWB and silent. I felt as I had never done before. 

w Until this moment I had twmuglOSSOd as a com- 
pensation for my shame: now their wbb something done 

for which I had not yet atoned. An hour before, I 
thought that no one eonld have persuaded DM that there 
was any tiling worse than myself in existence, now I 

begin to moped that my situation an bourogo, was an 

cii\ iable one. 

I'he judgments of God occurred not to my mind, 
or if they did, but one Bitted before me, and what it 
wa> I kn«»w not. My recollection was perplexed with 
the t ho ught of rope and hatchet, and the execution of 
a woman for child-murder which I had witnessed when 

a sobooMwy. Something particularly terrifying me* 

thou_ happen tO myself, for from this moment 

my life wa> forfeited. I thought on nothing else. I 

wished only that the huntsman still lived. I did all 
that wa> in my power to recal the evil deeds he fiad 
done me when alive, but in vain. My memory was 
extinct. I could not recollect even one of the various 
things, which had rtned me, but a quarter of an hour 

to a state of madness, I could not conceive, how I 

had bfOllght myself to commit tint murderous <U>('<\. 

"I was still standing beside the c orpse . I might have 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 155 

stood for ever — ,when the crack of a whip and the creak- 
ing of a waggon which went through the forest brought 
me to myself. — It was scarcelya quarter of a mile from 
the high road where the deed was perpetrated, — I 
thought of safety. 

" Involuntarily I plunged deeper into the forest. Up- 
on the way it struck me that the deceased had once 
possessed a watch. I required money to reach the 
frontiers, and yet my courage failed me to return to 
the place where the corpse lay. Here a thought on 
the devil and on the omnipresence of God terrified me. 
I gathered up all my boldness, and determined to brave 
the combat even with the powers of hell, — I went back 
to the spot. I found what I had expected, and in a 
green purse, something more than a dollar in money. 
In the very act of putting both of them into my pocket 
I stopped suddenly and considered. It was no fit of 
shame, nor of fear to aggravate my crime by plunder, 
it was spite I believe that made me throw the watch 
away from me, and made me keep only the half of the 
money. I wished to be considered the personal en- 
emy of the slain, not his robber. 

" I now flew though the forest. I knew that the 
wood stretched northwards for four German miles, and 
there skirted the frontiers of the Principality. Until 
noon I ran on breathlessly; the rapidity of my flight had 



1<^> THE DISHONOI RED 

relieved my mental anxiety, but it returned more ter- 
ribly as my Btrengtb became exhausted; a thousand 
frightful images rose up before me, and struck like pierc- 
ing daggers through my heart. Betwixt a life full of 
the fear of death, or a riolenl death itself, it was now 

left me tO make the dreadful choice, and tliat choice 
mUSl instantly he made. I had not the heart to leave the 
world by suicide and yet shrunk hack at the prospect 

of remaining in it. Held fast betwixt the known mis- 
eries of lite and the unknown terror of eternity, alike 
incapable to live or to die. I completed the sixth hour 

of my night, an hour replete with miseries which no 
li\ hag being could desci ibe 

•• Wrapt up in myself and weary, with my hat un- 

COHSCioUsly drawn down upon my face. B6 iftttl could 

have shrouded me from the eye of inanimate nature, I 
had insensibly followed a small foot-path which led me 
through the gloomiest part of the forest, when all of a 

sudden, a rough commanding voice called to me ' Halt !' 

The voice was quite near, my distraction and m\ 

slouched hat had prevented me from looking around. 
I raised my eye- up and saw a savage-looking man 
with a large knotty stick approaching me. I lis figure 
seemed gigantic, at least my first surprise had made 
me think so, and the colour of his skin was of a yellow 
mulatto hue, from which the white of a squinting ey< 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 157 

obtruded even to frightfulness. Instead of a girdle he 
had a thick rope bound twice round a green woollen 
coat, wherein was stuck a broad butcher's knife and a 
pistol. The cry was repeated, and a powerful arm 
held me fast. The voice of a man had filled me with 
terror, but the sight of a villain gave me courage. In 
the situation wherein I was at present, I had reasons 
to tremble before every honest man, but none before a 
robber. 

" 'Who art thou?' said the apparition. 

" 6 Thy equal,' was my answer, ' if thou art really 
what thou seem'st to be.' 

" ' There is no road this way, — what wouldst thou 
seek here ?' 

" ' What right hast thou to ask?' replied I, con- 
temptuously. 

" The man looked at me twice from head to foot. 
It seemed as if he were comparing my figure with his 
own, and my answer with my figure. 

" < Thou speakest like a beggar.' 

" < That may be — I was one yesterday.' 

" The man laughed. ' Any one would swear,' cried 
he, ' that even now thou wouldst not pass for much 
better.' 

" * For something worse then, — but I must on/ 



L58 the DISHONOURED 

"' Hold, friend; what makes you journey so last; 

I- \ ou t'uu* mi pfecioaG ? 

" I bethought myself for a moment. 1 know not 

how tin 1 wonU came upon my tOBgue, ' Lift is short,' 
I [, slowly, 'and hell endur« B tor ever.' 
M Hi* stared at me. k I will he damned,' said lie at 

lcn-ih, ' hut thou has rubbed shoulders with the gal- 

M ' Thai may probably happen yet. Farewell j till 
are meet again comrade.' 

i omrad •/ cried be, while he drew out a tin 
Bask from his banting- pocket, took a powerful draught 

ot it. and then reached it to m»\ Right and anxiety 

had consumed my strength, and during this whole 
frightful day, nothing had, a> yet, crossed my lips. I 
afraid of fainting in the forest. I could not hope 
reshment for three miles around me. 
It may he judged how gladly I shared this offered 
health. My limbs gained new strength from this ns- 
freshment, my heart m tingled with hopes 

and love of lit'.*. I began to think that I might yet not 
thee so miserable; so much had tin welcome 
rmpii-hed. Yes, I confess it, my situa- 
tion bordered again upon humanity, for at length, after 
a thousand disappointed hopes, I had found a being 
who was like myself. In the state to which I tvai 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 159 

sunk, I would have drunk fellowship with the spirits 
of hell to have gained a confidant. 

"The man had stretched himself out upon the 
grass, — I did the same. 

" 'Thy drink has done me good,' said I, < we must 
become better acquainted/ 

" He struck fire to light his pipe. 

" < Hast thou followed this business long?' 

" He looked sternly at me, ' What dost thou mean 
by asking?' 

" < Has that been already bloody ?' drawing the knife 
from his girdle. 

"< Who art thou?' said he fiercely, and laying his 
pipe aside. 

" i A murderer like yourself, — but only a beginner.' 

" The man looked at me sternly, and took up his 
pipe again. 

" < Thou art not of this neighbourhood,' said he, 
after a pause. 

" i About three miles distant; — the host of the Sun, 
in T , if thou hast ever heard of me.' 

" The man leapt up like one possessed. c The 
poacher, Wolf?' cried he hastily. 

" * The same.' 

" * Welcome comrade, welcome,' cried he, and shook 
me forcibly by the hand; < that is excellent, I have thee 



100 the DISHONOURED 

at last, mine host of the Sun. For days and years I 
have thought upon how I could catch thee, — I know 
thee right well. — I know all, — I have long reckoned 

upon thee.' 

• ' Reckoned upon me! how bo? 

" * The whole country 18 full of thee. Thou hast 
had (Minnies. — an Aintinan has oppressed thee. Wolf. 

Thou hast been crushed to the ground ; yet thy wrongs 
cry up to beai en for vengeance.' 

M The man became warm. 

"< Because thou bast shot a few wild hoars, which 

the Prince fed upon OUT fields and aCOrni, they have 

dnurired thee to the [louse of Correction, and then to 
the Portress; they have stolen from thee, house and 
business, — they have made thee a beggar, K it come 
to this, brother, that a man should be no belter than a 
hare? Are we not better than the cattle upon the 

fields? And can a fellow like thee endure it?' 
" 'Could I alter it? 

'••That shall be Been immediately; hut tell me 
whence COmesI thou now, and what ohject hast thou in 

new? 

" I told him my whole story. The man, without 
waiting till I had finished, sprang up with joyful impa- 
tience and drew me up alontr with him. 

M ; Come hrother host of the Sun," said he. < now 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 161 

thou art ripe, now I have thee as I wanted thee, — 
follow me.' 

" ' Whither wouldst thou lead me?' 

" < Thou wilt not need to ask long, — follow.' He 
dragged me forcibly away. 

" We had gone a short quarter of a mile, the forest 
became steeper, wilder, and more impassable; neither 
spoke a word, until at length the whistle of my con- 
ductor roused me from my reverie ; I raised up my 
eyes, we stood upon the rugged brink of a precipice, 
which bent itself below into a deep cavern. A double 
whistle answered from the innermost centre of the 
rock, and a ladder rose up as if of itself, slowly from 
the abyss. My conductor clambered down, and called 
to me to wait till he should return. < I must first put 
the dog on the chain,' added he, ' thou art a stranger, 
the animal would tear thee.' With this he disappear- 
ed. 

" Now I stood alone before the abyss, and I knew 
well too, that I was alone. The inconsideration of my 
conductor did not escape my notice. It would only 
have cost me a little determined resolution to have 
drawn up the ladder, and I was free, and my flight 
was secured. I confess that I thought of it. Hooked 
down into the deep cavern, which was now about to 
receive me ; it reminded me gloomily of the abyss of 



16* mi DISHONOl RED 

hell, from which there is DO escape. I began to shud- 
der at the career I was now about to en1 t open, — in- 
stant flight could only save me. 1 determined upon 

this fligfatj and had already Stretched out my arm tor 

the ladder, — hut all at once, there thundered in my 

fAw something thai Bounded to me like the .scornful 

laugh of hell; 'what has a murderer to risk?' — and 

my arm tell powerless by my side. My reckoning was 

Complete — the time of repentance was over — my deed 

laj behind me like a huge rock, and barred my return 
mi. My conductor at the same time reappeared, 

and told nit- to come awav. J here WM now no lon- 

my choice, — I clambered down. 
M We wen scarcely a few st«-ps below the preci- 
pice, before the ground widened, and several bute he- 
came risible. In the middle of these, a round <ji;i-> 
plot opened out. npon which were lying round a blaz- 
ing oal lire, from eighteen to twenty people. w Here 

comrades," said my conductor, and placed DM in the 
mid-t of the circle, -heir is our IIo>t of the Sun! hid 

him welcome ' 

•• • \\ elcome, I lost of the Sun!' cried they all at once, 
while they rose up and p reO B od around me, men and 

women. Shall I confess it? Their joy wasmsdisMS*- 

hled and hearty; confidence, even rasped appeared 
on every countenance, — one pressed my hand, another 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 16S 

shook rae confidently by the coat, — their whole beha- 
viour appeared like a meeting with an old acquaintance 
that was dear to them. My arrival had broken^ in up- 
on their meal which they had just begun. It was 
immediately resumed, and I was required to drink the 
welcome. 

" The supper consisted of all kinds of game, and the 
wine-flask wandered unwearied from neighbour to 
neighbour. Happiness and harmony seemed to ani- 
mate the whole band, and each vied with the other to 
show his joy at my arrival. 

" I was placed betwixt two female personages, which 
seemed the seat of honour at the table. I expected to 
see the very outcasts of their sex, but how great was 
my astonishment, when I discovered under the mean- 
est apparel, the loveliest female forms that ever met my 
eye. Margaretta, the oldest and prettiest of the two 
called herself Miss, and could scarcely be five-and-twen- 
ty; she spoke very freely, and her gestures said still 
more. Maria, who was younger, was married, but ran 
off from her husband, because he had used her ill. She 
was more handsomely formed, but looked pale and 
slender, and pleased the eye less than her bolder neigh- 
bour. Both women were zealous to gain my love ; — 
the fair Margaretta overcame my modesty by her free 
and alluring manners, but the woman altogether was 



164 THE DISHONOURED 

disagreeable to me, and the bashful Maria seized upon 
my heart for ever. 

" * You sea brother Host of the Sun !' said the man 
who had brought DM hero, ' you see how we live among 
our another, and with u^ every day is alike. Is it not 

comiad 

<* i Kvory day like the present, was repeated by the 
whole hand.' 

" 'If therefore you can determine to be pleased with 
■Midi ot lit*-, thru < miM'iit lo ho our loader: — till 
now I have been BO, bat 1 will yield to you. Are you 
satisfied comrades : 

\ joytul 'yes! responded from every throat. 

Wy heed burned, my brain was stunned, my bleed 

belled with wine and passion. The world had dis- 
eased me a- one afflicted with the plague; — ken I 
found a brotherly reception, comfort and honour. 
Whatever choice I made, death awaited me; hut 1 
could ben sell my life at a higher price. Sensu- 

ality opensity ; women had always un- 

til now treated me with contempt, here affection and 
unbridled pleasure awaited me. My dedeiOV OBBt me 
little thought. ( I remain with you comrades, ' said I. 
with a loud and determined voice, and stepped into the 
middle of the band ; ' I Remain with you/ cried I apain. 
4 if you resign to me m\ lovelv neighbour? — all av 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 165 

to grant me my wish. I was the declared proprietor 
of a strumpet, and the captain of a band of robbers !' " 

The following part of the story I pass over altoge- 
ther; what is merely terrible, has nothing instructive 
in it for the reader. A wretch who had sunk to this 
depth, would permit all that humanity revolts at — but 
he committed no second murder, at least so be himself 
declared upon the scaffold. 

His fame extended itself in a short time through the 
whole province. The roads became insecure, noctur- 
nal robberies disturbed the citizens, and the name of 
the Host of the Sun, became the terror of the country 
people. Justice sought him out, and a price was set up 
on his head. He was fortunate in eluding every snare 
that was laid for him, and was cunning enough to take 
advantage of the superstition of the credulous peasants 
to secure his freedom. His associates were directed 
to spread the report that he had made a contract with 
the devil, and could make use of witchcraft. The dis- 
trict upon which he played his part, was then still more 
than now, one of the least enlightened in Germany. 
Full belief was given to this report, and his person was 
secure : no man shewed an inclination to have a con- 
test with the dangerous being whom the devil had cho- 
sen for his service. 

He had already followed thi? dreadful occupation for 



166 THE DISHONOIUKD 

a twelvemonth, when it began to Become iasuppefeaUe 
to 1 1 i 1 1 1 . The l)an<l at whose head he bad pitted him- 
m'Il fulfilled not hU glowing expectations. A seduc- 
tive exterior, while giddy with wine, had formerly 
blinded him ; he now perceived with terror, how hor- 
ridly he was mistaken. Hunger and want appeared 
in the place of tin 1 abundance, with which ho had heen 

gained over. Very often must he risk his life upon a 
single meal, which was barely sufficient to protect him 
from his hungry associaton , The phantom ottrotkerty 
peered; envy, suspicion, and jealousy 
raged in 'die hearts of tin- abandoned society. Justice 

had offered a reward to any one who would deliver 
him up BKve, and it it should he ;m accomplice, a com- 
panion wa> promised, — a mighty search for the 

sst of the earth! The unfortunate man knew his 
danger; the honesty of those who despised GM and 

man was a poor pledge tor his life. His steep hence- 
forward departed; an everlasting deathlike anxiety 
gnawed at hit peace; wherever he went, the fright fu l 
phantom of suspicion rattled behind hum. pained him 
when awake, lay by hi- side when lie went to sleep, 
and tormented him with horrid dreams. Stiffled con- 
science regained at the -am.- time it^ voice, and the 
ting adder of repentance awoke with this common 
d of his bosom. I [is whole hatred wa> now averted 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 167 

from man, and was turned with all its poignancy upon 
his own head. He forgave the whole of nature, and 
found none to curse, except himself. 

Vice had completed its instructions to the unhappy 
man ; his naturally good understanding triumphed at 
length over the melancholy delusion. He now felt 
how low he had fallen, calm sadness took the place of 
gnashing despair. With tears he wished the past could 
return, now he knew well that he would pass it quite 
differently. He began to hope he might yet be honest, 
for he felt in himself that he could be so. In the low- 
est depth of his depravity he was nearer honesty, than 
probably he ever had been since his first error. 

About this time the seven years' war broke out, and 
the levies for soldiers were cruelly severe. The un- 
happy man entertained hopes from this circumstance, 
and wrote a letter to his sovereign, an extract of which 
I here insert: 

" If your princely favour does not feel disgust to 
look down upon me; if a criminal of my sort does not 
lie completely beyond the pale of your pity, then grant 
me your attention, most illustrious Prince! — I am a 
murderer and a robber, the law condemns me to death, 
justice seeks me out — and I offer most willingly to 
deliver myself up. But I bring at the same time a 
strange request before your throne. I abhor my life 







lob THK DISHONOURED 

and fear not death, but it is a terrible tiling for me to 
die, without having lived. I would live to make re- 
paration for a portion of the past ; I would live to atone 
to the State winch I have injured. My execution would 
l»c an example to the world, but no compensation for 

my deeds. I hate vice, and thirst ardently for honesty 
and virtue. I have shown abilities in being terrible to 
my native country ; I bene there are yet some left in 
me, whereby I might be useful to it. 

•• I know that I me for an unheard of thinir — my life 

N'it.'d. yd it is nut my intention to make a treaty 

with jiiMi< •<•. lint I Appear not in chains and bonds 

before yOU, — I am -till fires — and alarm for myself has 

the lligfateet connexion with my petition. 

• It is favour I implore, — a claim upon justice, even 

though 1 had one, I would not attempt to make of any 

avail. — Yet of something I might remind my Judges. 

Tin- i te of my crimes began with the sentence 

that deprived me tor r\i>v of my honour. Had justice 

been formerly less saves* towards me, 1 would not now 
have required mercy. 

" Let your clem> 1 in the place of right, my 

Prince. If it i> in your sovereign power to save me 
from the law, then grant me my life. It shall be 
henceforward dedicated to your service. If you can 
do it, inform me of your gTacious determination in the 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 169 

public newspapers, and I shall upon your princely word 
appear in the capital. If you have decided otherwise 
with me, then let justice act her own part, — I must 
act mine." 

This petition remained without an answer, as well 
as a second and a third, wherein the supplicant begged 
to be admitted into the cavalry of the Prince. His 
hopes of a pardon vanished altogether, and he there- 
fore resolved to fly the country, enter the service of 
the King of Prussia, and die like a brave soldier. 

He dispersed his band, and entered upon his jour- 
ney. The road conducted him through a small town, 
where he wished to pass the night. Strict proclamations 
had just been issued through the country, for a severe 
examination of all travellers, as the Sovereign, a Prince 
of the Empire, had taken a part in the war. Such a 
command the gate-clerk of this town had also received. 
He sat upon a bench before the gate, as the Host of 
the Sun rode forward. The appearance of Wolf had 
something comical in it, and at the same time some- 
thing terrifying and savage. The meagre horse which 
he rode, and the burlesque choice of his attire, wherein 
he had given less proof of his taste than of the chroni- 
cle of his thefts, contrasted strangely enough with a 
countenance upon which as many raging passions were 

*pourtrayed, as are to be seen in the silenced corpses 

Y 



119 llfi: DISHONOURED 

oji a field of battle. The gate-clerk Btarted at the light 
of this strange wanderer. He had grown grey in the 
service, and forty years 1 experience had produced in 
liim a physiognomical acquaintance with all travellers. 

Hie hawk-eye of thlfl Mood-hound did not mis* his 
man hero either. He instantly shut the town-irate and 

demanded of the horseman hia passport, while he made 
of his horses reins* Wolf had provided for an ac- 
cident of this kind, and carried in reality a passport 
along with him which he a short time before had taken 

from ■ merchant whom be had plundered. But this 

M.litary token was cot sufficient to take away fort}- yean 

observation, and to bring the oracle of the town-bar to 

m antation. The clerk believed bis own eyes rather 

than tin- paper, and Wolf was required to follow him to 

the Ainthoie- 

The Aintuian examined the passport an<l declared it 
an inveterate loser of news, and liked 

colarly t<> talk of the times over ■ bottle* The 

passport told him its p bad come direct from 

the rre of the war. He wished to fish out 

private intellig and tberefere sent 

a clerk hack with the passport, coupled with an 
invitation to share a bottle of wine. 

In the meantime the Most of the Sun. remained on 
horseback in front of the Amthouse, and Ins laughable 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 171 

appearance had collected round him the scum of the 
town, they whispered to each other, pointing alternate- 
ly to the horse and the rider ; the wantonness of the 
people arose at length to a complete tumult. Unfor- 
tunately the horse to which every one pointed was a 
stolen one; the rider imagined that the horse might 
have been described in the public placards, and was re- 
cognised. The unexpected hospitality of the Amtman 
completed his suspicion. He now considered it as cer- 
tain that his false passport had betrayed him, and that 
this invitation was only a snare to seize him alive, and 
without opposition. A bad conscience made him stu- 
pid, — he puts spurs to his horse, and gallopped forward 
without giving any answer to the clerk. 

This sudden flight was a signal to the rabble. 

" A villain," cried all, and rushed after him. With 
the rider it seems life or death ; he has ^already got in 
advance, his pursuers follow breathless behind him, he 
is approaching his salvation— but a strong hand press- 
ed invisibly against him, — the hour of his destiny was 
run, the inexorable Nemesis arrested him as her debtor. 
The street which he had trusted to ended in a cul-de 
sae> he was obliged to turn round in the face of his pur- 
suers. 

The alarm of this event had in the mean-time put the 
whole town into uproar; crowd joined crowd, every 



178 l UK DISHONOI KM> 

street is stopped, a bo8l oi enemies are in full in; 

upon bun. He draws i pistol, — the people en afraid; 

lie endeavours to make a way by force for himself 
through tbl crowd. M Tins shot" — cried he, — M is 
for the daring fool win* will stop me. — Tear produced 
a universal paiw; hut a COUrageOUl locksmith at length 
< au_lit hiel arm from hehind, seized the tinker with 

which the raging man would discharge hll pistol, and 
■ queene d it out of joint* The pistol tell, the defence- 

leal in ii is torn from his horse, and drained in triumph 
to the Amthou-e. 

m Who ait tbcta?" demanded the Judge* with some- 

ihing <>f a hrutal tone 

\ man, who is resolved to answer no (juestion, 
till be M Mated more politely.' 
M Who ai.' you:" 

•-What I -ave my-elt out to he. I ha\ | travelled 
;_li hit all ( it-rmany, ami have been intuited no- 
where except here.'" 

• Your sudden Bight makes yon very suspicions. 

Why did you fly?" 

•• Because I irai a/eary of being the sport fit yom 

rahhle." 

" You threatened to BreJ 

My pistol was not loaded; the weapon ma exa- 
mined, — there was no bhot in it. 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 173 

" Why do you carry such weapons about you? 5 ' 

" Because I bear about me things of value ; and be- 
cause too, I have been warned of a certain Host of the 
Sun, that rambles about this neighbourhood." 

" Your answers prove much for your assurance, but 
nothing for your honesty. I shall give you till to- 
morrow, to see whether you will discover the truth." 

" I shall adhere to my present declaration." 

" Let him be conducted to prison." 

" To prison? — Herr Amtman, I hope there is still 
justice in this country, — I shall demand satisfaction ." 

" I shall give it to you, as soon as you are cleared 
from suspicion." 

On the morning the Amtman considered the stran- 
ger might yet, possibly, be innocent; that imperious 
words would have no power over his stubbornness, 
and therefore it might be better to meet him with 
calmness and moderation. He assembled the council 
of the place, and ordered the prisoner to be brought 
up. 

" Pardon me, Sir, if in the effervescence of the mo- 
ment, I yesterday treated you somewhat harshly." 

" Most willingly, since you address me thus." 

" Our laws are severe, and your adventure caus- 
ed alarm. I cannot grant you your freedom with- 
out violating the laws : appearances are against you. 



1 1 I l ill. DISHONOURED 

I would wish that you could tell me something there- 
by the BOSpicioD might be removed." 
" And it' I should know nothing r" 

<k Then I must inform the government of the circum- 
stance, and you must remain thus long in confinement." 

M And then 

" Then you run the danger of being either whipped 
if roan the frontiers as a vagabond, or it' you are merci- 
fully dealt with, put under the drill-serjeant." 

Wolf was silent for I tew moments, and appeared tO 
sorter a severe mental conflict, then he tinned sudden- 
ly round to the Judge, nying] M Can I be alone with 
sou for a quarter of an hour?* 1 

The Council looked at one another not knowing 

what 10 do, hut upon a Significant nod from their jue- 

sid.Mit, they retired. 

(i Well, what do vuu desired' 

" Your \ -esterda\ 's beharioor Hon- Amtman. would 

never hare brought me to a confession, for J despite 

force. The modest discretion howe\er. witil which 

Von have treated me to-d inspired me with 

reaped and confidence. I believe you are an honour- 
able man." 

14 What have you to say to me?" 

11 I see you are an honourable man, I have lo 



IRRECLAIMABLE. 175 

wished for such a man. Permit me to take your right 
hand." 

u What means all this?" 

" That head is grey and venerable, you have been 
long in the world, — have had probably many sufferings 
— have you not ? — And are become more humane in 
consequence?" 

" Well Sir — and whither does all this lead?" 

11 You stand but a step from eternity, soon — soon 
you will require pity from your God. Shall you re- 
fuse it to a man? — Do you suspect nothing? — With 
whom do you think you speak?" 

" What is all this ? — you terrify me." 

" Have you no suspicion yet. — Write to your 
Prince, how you found me, and that I was from choice 
my own betrayer. — May God be one day as merciful 
to him, as he now will be to me. — Pray for me old 

man, and let a tear fall upon your communication: 

I am the Host of the Sun!" 



THE 



DEATH OF AN ANGEL, 

i 

BY 

J 

JEAN PAUL RICHTER. 



There are more tilings in Heaven and Earth, Horatio, than 
are dreamt of in thy philosophy. 

Shakespeare. 



THE 



DEATH OF AN ANGEL. 



Along with the angel of the last hour, to whom we 
give the harsh name of Death, there comes another, 
the tenderest and most benevolent of spirits, who gently 
lifts the sinking soul of man, and transports it in his 
fostering hands unhurt, from its cold receptacle on earth 
into its warm abode in heaven. His brother is the 
angel of the first hour, who kisses man twice, — first, 
when he begins this life, and again, when he awakens 
to the joys of immortality, and enters smiling into the 
other life, as he came weeping into this. 

Whilst the angel of the last hour was employed on 
fields of battle steeped in blood and tears, gathering 
souls trembling on the brink of life, his compassionate 
eye melted in sorrow, and he said, " I will for once die 
like a human being, and experience the last pang, that 



180 DEATH OF 

I may learn to mitigate it, when I release au immortal 
spirit from the bonds of life. 

The innumerable liost of angelic beings who live in 
celestial love, encircled the compassionate angel, and 
promised to surround him in the moment of his disso- 
lution with their luminous brums, that he might know 
it was death he had suffered'; and his brother, whose 
Icise opens Mui- stiffened lips, as the breath of morn 
expands the ice-cold flowers, embraced him, and said: 

kl When I kiss thee again, my brother, then thou shalt 
have died (Mi llartli, and shalt be once more with us 

in I baton ' 

Moved with compassion, the angel descended upon 

a field of battle, where all had died, save a blooming 
youth whose blood-Stained bosom still gently heaved. 
Beside tie 1 hero there was no one but his betrothed — he 

could no longer feel her burning tears, and her cry ofan- 
guisb fell upon hi- ear undistinguished from tin; distant 
battle-shout around. 

The angel quickly discovered the dying warrior, and 
approaching in the form of his lover, inhaled with a 
warm ki*> the afflicted soul from his gory bosom — he 
gave the soul to his brother, who kissed him for the 
sec ond time, and forthwith it smiled above. 

The angel of the last hour, sprang like a flash of 
lightning into the empty form, pervaded the body, and 



AN ANGEL, 181 

caused the warm stream of life again to circulate from 
the re-invigorated heart. But how changed was he by 
the transformation ! — His perception was lost in the 
whirlpool of the nervous fluid — his once rapid thoughts 
now waded sluggishly through the atmosphere of the 
brain, — the soft moist vapour, which formerly cast its 
autumnal colouring over all objects was dried up, and 
their colours now came burning and painful to the 
eye, through the parched atmosphere. All his feelings 
became gloomy, and more contracted within himself, 
and seemed to him as the instinct of animals appears 
to us, — hunger gnawed him — thirst burnt him, and 
pain tore him. His bleeding and distracted bosom 
heaved, and his first breath was a sigh for the heaven 
he had lost. " Is this," thought he, " the death of 
mortals ?" But as he saw not the promised token of 
death — no angel to receive him — no heaven shining 
around him, he found that this was not the death of 
mortals, but their life. 

In the evening the earthly powers of the angel were 
exhausted, and his head seemed to be crushed beneath 
the weight of the globe— for sleep had dispatched her 
messengers; the figures of imagination exchanged their 
sunshine for a smoky flame, the images impressed up- 
on the brain during the day, were magnified to a colos- 
sal size ; and confounded with each other, whilst a world 



182 I)K.\ Til ()1 

of bounding and ungovernable thoughts had taken p6s- 
ftpftsicm Of tifa 80ttl — tor the u r od of dreams had sent his 
fairies At length the winding-sheet of sleep was fold- 
ed doable around him, and he sank in the embrace of 
kligbt, torpid and solitary, like us poor mortals. Hut 
then celestial Dream, thou tlewest before his soul with 
thy thousand mirrors; in each mirror thou showedst him 
a circle of fcngefe, and a radiant heaven;and his terres- 
trial frame with all its pains, seemed to leave him unen- 
cumbered. ''Alas!*' said he with vain delight, "my 
falling asleep was my departure from life." But when 
be fcg&in awoke, with a heart oppressed, and full of the 
_i-b tide of human blood, and looked upon the earth 
and UpOft the night, then said he. ; * that was not death, 
but only its image, although I --aw the starry heavens, 
and the amjelic hosts." 

The bride of the departed hero observed not that 
an angel dwelt in the breast of her lover. She loved 
the noble receptacle of the departed soul, and still 
affectionately held the band of him who was far remov- 
ed from her. But the angel returned the feelings of 
her deluded heart with human affection; proud of his 
present form, lie wished not to die before her, that she 
txught love him long enough to forgive him one day in 
heaten, for having caused her to press ; ,t once to her 
bosom an anjrel and a lover. 



AN ANGEL. 183 

But she died first, — past sorrow had weighed down 
the head of this flower too far, and it hroke and fell 
lovely to the grave. Alas! she departed before the 
weeping angel, not like the sun which plunges proud- 
ly before admiring nature into the ocean, raising its 
ruddy waves to heaven, but like the still moon which 
sinks at midnight, surrounded by a pale mist silvered 
by its own beams. 

Death sent as a precursor his gentler sister hisensi- 
bility. She touched the heart of the bride, and her 
warm countenance froze, — the flowers of her cheek 
shrunk — the pale snow of winter beneath which the 
spring of Eternity buds, covered her brow and her hands. 
The swelling eye of the angel melted into a burning 
tear — and while he thought his heart had burst forth 
in the form of that drop of water — like a pearl from the 
brittle shell-fish, — the bride moved, awaking from her 
last mental aberration, once more raised up her eyes, 
clasped him to her heart, and while she kissed him, 
said. " Now I am with thee my brother" — expired. — 
The angel imagined his heavenly brother had given 
him the sign of the kiss of death, but instead of a beam- 
ing heaven, a melancholy gloom surrounded him, and he 
sighed that this was not Death, but only human sorrow 
for the sufferings of another. 
u O ye afflicted mortals." cried he, " how do ye out- 



184. DEATH OF 

live your afflictions, and how do you submit to the weary 
length of life, when the circle of your youthful com- 
panions is broken, and at last lies in ruins around you; 
when the graves of your friends rise behind you, like 
steps conducting to your own, and when old age is silent 
and vapid, like the evening which follows a deadly con- 
flict. O ye poor mortals ! how can your hearts bear it?" 

The body of the ascended hero placed the mild angel 
amid human hardships — amid human injustice. He 
was surrounded by the thorny girdle of allied govern- 
ments, — that girdle which holds in its stinging grasp 
whole quarters of the globe, and which the mighty and 
the powerful never cease to tighten. He saw the claws 
of crowned vultures tearing at their now featherless prey, 
which he heard struggling with wearied wing beneath 
their cruel grasp. He beheld the whole earth surroun- 
ded by the entert wining folds of the gigantic serpents of 
vicious passions, which thrust and hid their poisonous 
heads deep in the human breast. Through his tender 
heart which heretofore had ever been placed amongst 
affectionate and loving angels, the burning sting of ha- 
tred shot ; and his soul the very sanctuary of love was 
terrified at its inward dissolution: "alas" said he, "hu- 
man death is indeed painful." — But it was not death, 
for no angel appeared. 

In a few days he became weary of that life, which 



AN ANGEL. 



185 



we bear for half a century, and longed to return to bis 
lost Heaven. The evening sun attracted his congeni- 
al soul. His shattered and wounded breast exhausted 
him with pain. He went out with the glow of evening 
upon his pale cheek, to the church-yard, that green 
background of life, where the material forms of those 
lovely souls which he had once released, had been suc- 
cessively deposited. He placed himself with sorrow- 
ful longing upon the yet naked grave of his departed 
bride, and gazed at the setting sun. He looked too 
at his own afflicted frame, and thought, thou too 
wouldst have been lying here, distracted bosom, no 
longer causing pain, had I not raised thee from death. 
Here he reflected upon the sad life of man, and the 
palpitations of his own wounded bosom showed him 
the sorrows with which man purchases his virtue and 
his death ; sorrows which he rejoiced to have spared 
the noble soul whose body he animated. Human vir- 
tue deeply affected him, and he wept from his ceaseless 
love for man, who, amid the urgent cravings of his 
own necessities, under the lowering clouds which over- 
shadow and darken the paths of life, turns not away 
his eye from the high day-star of duty, but stretches 
forth his generous arm through the darkness, towards 
every mourning fellow creature, round whom nothing 

but hope glimmers, like the sun sinking in the old 
Aa 



186 DEATH OF AN ANGEL. 

world to rise in the new. — Delight opened his wounds, 
and his blood (the tears of the soul,) flowed from his 
heart upon the well-loved grave; the sinking body 
dropped softly towards the object of its affection. The 
sun, seen through his tears of joy, appeared to float in 
an ocean of rosy light. Distant echo-tones, like those 
of the earth when it speeds its way through aether, 
played through the moist and glowing mist; then a 
dark cloud, like a sudden night laden with sleep, flit- 
ted before the angel, and now the beams of Heaven 
arose and encompassed him, and thousands of celestial 
beings shone around him. " Art thou there again, de- 
lusive dream ?" said he ; — but the angel of the first 
hour, came to him through the radiant light, and gave 
him the sign of the kiss, and said, " That was Death, 
thou eternal Brother and friend of Heaven," and the 
Hero and his bride softly repeated the joyful words. 



THE iMOON: 



A TALE OF THE IMAGINATION. 



/ 
JEAN PAUL RICHTER. 



Look how the floor of Heaven 
Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold;— 
There's not the smallest orb which thou beholdest, 
But in his motion like an Angel sings. 

Shakespeare, 



THE MOON. 



DEDICATION 



FOSTER-SISTER, PHILIPPINA, 



I have never yet, my dear foster-sister, had a hit at 
you girls, for your attachment to the moon, for making 
it the plaything of your hearts, and the nest-egg round 
which you arrange all the other stars, when you hatch 
your fancies out of them. Be it so. But there are 
other things about which we might talk ; fcr example, that 
you would rather admire and look at the good moon 
and its man there cleaving to it, than learn really to know 
them, just as you do with men beneath the moon. It 
is alas, no secret, dearest sister, that thousands of girls, 
have been both married and burried, who have consid- 
ered that silver world above, as in reality nothing more 
than a pretty soup-plate of celestial tin, stamped witli 



190 THE MOON. 

the man in the moon, just as the English ware is, with 
the figure of an angel. It may even be questioned, my 
dear, whether thou thyself knowest that the moon is 
but a few miles smaller than all Asia. How often 
must I sing it at thy window, before thou rememberest 
it, that not only its day lasts half a month, but what is 
more worth hearing, its night also; so that there, a gay 
girl who is torn by her mother home from a ball at mid- 
night, will have at least waltzed and whirled her good 
hundred and fifty hours. — Now tell me Philippina, whe- 
ther thou thinkest that the moon, or rather its inhabi- 
tants, will not, during so long a night, be desirous of see- 
ing and walking about like ourselves, and consequently 
will require as big a moon as we do, one, at any rate, no 
smaller than an ordinary coach wheel. — I have it from 
good authority, that thou hast no notion what the moon 
sees above it for a moon. Fair fickle one, our Earth 
is its moon, and appears to those above, no bigger than 
a bride's-cake. I add too, for the sake of my story, 
which is to follow, that we can throw no light up to 
them, (moonlight or earthlight) when we have none 
here below ourselves, which is the case in an eclipse of 
the Sun; consequently the inhabitants of the moon 
during an eclipse of the Sun, can say nothing else than, 
" We have an eclipse of the Earth to-day." 
I beseech you earnestly Philippina, consider those 



THE MOON. 191 

particulars of the moon, on which the whole of my 
fanciful story is founded, and read them at least twen- 
ty times over to your hearers ; else the whole will es- 
cape you before I have even begun. 

I take it uncommonly ill of your parents, that they 
have not instead of French, which like a bundle of su- 
pernumerary keys (as useless as so many honorary 
lords of the bed-chamber) is used only to keep up the 
tinkling of a soul-destroying prattle, and never to un- 
lock a single French book, — for you like stories of 
knight-errantry far better. — I say, I take it ill of them 
that they have not rather caused you to learn astronomy, 
a science which bestows on man an elevated heart, an 
eye which reaches above the earth, wings which ele- 
vate him into the immensity of space, and the know- 
ledge of a God who is not finite but eternal. 

We may have our fancies about all that is under the 
moon, or above it either, provided we do not mistake 
those fancies for realities, — take a magic lantern for a 
cabinet of pictures, — or a cabinet of pictures for one of 
natural objects. The astronomer makes an inventory 
and valuation of the heavens, and comes within a few 
pounds of the truth; the poet furnishes and adorns 
them; the former constructs the map of meadows, 
through which the latter conducts pearly streams, 
swarming with golden fishes ; the former throws mea- 



192 THE MOON. 

suring lines, the latter, garlands over the moon, and 
over the earth too. — Thus then, my love, thou canst 
easily meet with thy knitting-school companions on a 
lime-tree terrace, and feelingly read over to them fan- 
cies such as mine, if it is not done in broad day-light, 
and if the worship of the mother-church of the earth is 
not forgotten in the supplementary chapel-service of 
the moon. 

But thou gentle and pallid form, to whom I so often 
bend my looks to soften my heart, — thou who glim- 
merest so modestly and makest so modest — thou who 
displayest thy worth to the silent heavens and not to 
the noisy earth — to whom I willingly raise my eye 
when it contains a few superfluous tears, which fall 
upon the flowers of past happiness blooming in the 
memory, and lead my thoughts to wander beyond the 
clouds to the native land of our transplanted wishes, 
thou lovely form, Philippina, it re- 
joices thy brother's heart that it remains a matter of 
doubt whom I am here addressing, thee or the moon. 
To deserve such a doubt, dear sister, is so excellent, 
I know but one thing superior to it; namely, to be 
exempted from it, — for resembling the moon in all but 
its spots and its changeableness. 

I am, however, with this latter distinction, 

Your Brother. 



THE MOON. 193 

When I related your little story for the first time, Eu- 
genius and Rosamond, whom I dare no longer call by 
your own names, my friends and I were walking in 
an English garden. We came opposite to to a newly 
painted sarcophagus, standing on its pedestal. Beyond 
it, over the green garden, a white obelisk rose conspi- 
cuous, which pointed out the spot where two sister- 
princesses, had, after a painful separation, again united 
and embraced, and upon which the inscription ran: 
" Here we met again." — The summit of the obelisk 
gleamed already in the rays of the fall moon, and here 
I related the simple story. But thou, dear reader, trace 
what will do as well as the real sarcophagus and the 
obelisk, — the inscription of the sarcophagus in the 
ashes of the past, and let the letters of the obelisk be 
imprinted upon your inmost soul with your heart's 
blood. 

Many souls drop like the flowers, yet like the spot- 
less buds, are trodden down in the common earth, and 
often lie soiled and crushed in the print of a hoof. — 
You too were crushed, Eugenius and Rosamond ! Ten- 
der souls like yours have their joys torn from them by 
three robbers: by the world, — whose rough grasp be- 
stows nothing on their hearts but scars, — by fate, 

which takes not away the tear from the lovely eye, 
Bb 



194 THE MOON. 

beaming with lustre, lest that lustre disappear, as we 
wipe not the moist diamond that it may not grow pale, 
— by their own hearts, which require too much, enjoy 
too little, hope too much, bear too little. Rosamond 
was a pure pearl, pierced by sorrow. Separated from 
her friends, she still continued to shrink under suffer- 
ing, like a severed branch of the sensitive plant at the 
approach of night; her life was a soft genial rain, as 
that of her husband was a bright and ardent sunshine. 
In his presence, she turned her eyes away from her 
sickly child, who in this life was like a light and flut- 
tering butterfly under a pelting rain. The fancy of 
Eugenius destroyed by its powerful flights, his too 
weak and delicate corporeal frame ; his body tender as 
the hare-bell, suited not his mighty mind ; the place 
where the sigh sprung, his bosom, was destroyed like 
his happiness: he had nothing else in the world but 
his loving heart, and but two beings to fill that heart. 
They resolved in the spring to withdraw from the 
whirlpool of the world, which had dashed so coldly, 
and so unkindly against their hearts; they caused a 
quiet hut to be prepared for them upon a lofty moun- 
tain, which lay opposite to the silver chain of the 
Staub-bach. On the first lovely morning of spring, 
they entered upon their long journey to the mountain. 
There is a sacredness, which suffering alone can give 



THE MOON. 195 

and purify; the stream of life becomes snow-white, 
when dashed against the opposing rocks of adversity. 
There is an elevation, where among ideas of sublimity, 
no trifling thought can ever mingle ; it is when placed 
upon an alpine height, we behold the summits of the 
neighbouring mountains, without observing the valleys 
that connect them together. — Thou hadst that sacred- 
ness Rosamond, — and thou that elevation, Eugenius ! 

The base of the mountain was surrounded by a morn- 
ing mist, in which three flitting spirits seemed suspend- 
ed. It was the reflection of the three travellers, — the 
timid Rosamond was terrified, and imagined she beheld 

herself Eugenius thought that that which envelopes 

the mortal spirit, is only a somewhat denser cloud ; — 
and the child grasped at the vapour, and wished to play 
with his brother in the mist. One solitary invisible 
angel of futurity accompanied them through life, and 
upon the mountain ; they were so good, and so like 
each other, that they required but one. At sunrise 
the angel opened the book of fate; on one and the same 
leaf was traced the plan of a three -fold life, each line 
was a day; and when the angel had examined that day's 
line, he wept and shut the book for ever. 

The feeble travellers still required almost one day for 
the completion of their journey. The earth crept back 
into the valley, the heavens rested themselves upon the 



196 THE MOON. 

mountains. The weary and now glimmeriug sun ap- 
peared to Eugenius like the mirror of the moon; he 
said to his beloved, as the icy summits of the mountains 
cast their rosy light upon the earth; " I am so weary 
but yet so well. Shall we feel thus when we awaken 
out of those two dreams, the dream of life and the 
dream of death, when we enter the cloudless moon, as 
the first welcome shore beyond the hurricane of life?" 
Rosamond replied; " we shall be better, for the moon 
as thou hast taught me, is the abode of little child- 
ren, and their parents remain there beside them, till 
they themselves become meek and calm as infants, and 
then they proceed further in their course" — " From world 
to world, from heaven to heaven," said Eugenius with 
enthusiasm. 

As they ascended, the sun sank; but as they pro- 
ceeded more slowly, the mountain tops appeared like 
outstretching branches concealing the sun. They then 
hurried onward amid the decaying glimmer of the even- 
ing, and when they reached the mountain-hut, the 
eternal hills had obscured the monarch of the day — the 
earth had veiled her graves and cities, paying her ado- 
ration to heaven, ere that heaven looked down upon her 
with its starry eyes, and ere the waterfalls had laid 
aside their rain-bows, — the earth inclined itself to- 
wards the sky, which bent over it with its outstretch- 



THE MOON. 197 

ed cloudy arms, tinged with gold, and extended from 
mountain to mountain, — and the glaciers gleamed with 
a light which glowed till midnight, and opposite them 
upon the grave of the sun, was a funeral-pile of clouds 
raised up out of the glow and the ashes of the evening. 
Through the glimmering ruddy light, kind heaven 
caused its evening tears to fall deep down into the 
earth, even upon the meanest grave and the smallest 
floweret. 

Oh Eugenius, how great must thy soul now become ! 
Earthly life lay at a distance, and in the deep valley be- 
fore thee, void of all the distortions which we behold 
in it, from viewing it too near at hand, as the decora- 
tive scene when too closely seen is changed from a land- 
scape to a mass of shapeless lines. 

The loving pair embraced each other long and ten- 
derly before the Alpine hut, and Eugenius said: " Oh 
silent eternal heaven, take from us now nothing more !" 
But his pallid child stood with its drooping snow- 
drop head before him — he looked at the mother, she 
turned her moist eye on high, and added softly. " Or 
take us all at once !" 

The angel of futurity, whom I will call the angel of 
rest, smiled through his tears, and with his wing dis- 
pelled upon an evening zephyr the sigh of the parents, 
that they might not make each other melancholy. 



198 THE MOON. 

The transparent evening floated around the rosy alp 
like the limpid ocean, and washed it with its circles of 
evening waves. The stiller the Earth and the evening 
became, the more the two souls felt they were now in 
their proper sphere : they had not a tear too many, not 
a tear too few, and their happiness required no increase 
save its repetition. Eugenius like a swan poured his 
first harmonious tones into the clear atmosphere. The 
wearied child encompassed in a circle of flowers, lean- 
ed against a sun dial, and played with the flowers which 
it threw around itself, to include the dial in its circle, 
When the mother at length awoke from the ecstacy in- 
to which the music of her husband had thrown her, she 
caught the large eyes of her child directed towards her. 
With a heart overflowing with maternal affection 
she approached her little angel : — he was cold and — 
dead. His heaven-born life had like other tones 
been dissipated in the atmosphere of the earth. — Death 
had breathed upon the butterfly, and it rose up out of 
the tempestuous streams of the air, into the ever peace- 
ful a3ther, from the flowers of earth, to the flowers of 
Paradise. 

Flit ye always away happy children ! The angel of 
rest cradles you in the morning of life with his plain- 
tive soothing song, — two weeping mortals carry you and 
your little coffin, and with garlands of flowers let your 



THE MOON. 199 

body with its rosy cheeks, its un wrinkled brow, and its 
pure hands, slip down into the second cradle, and you 
have only exchanged one Paradise for another; — but 
we, alas, we fall down beneath the destroying tempests 
of life, our hearts are weary, our faces are furrowed with 
earthly anxiety and earthly sorrow, and yet our souls 
cling strongly to this clod! 

Turn thou away from Rosamond's piercing shriek — 
her fixed look and petrified features — if thou hast al- 
ready felt this maternal sorrow, — look not upon the 
mother, who, with senseless love, presses convulsively 
to her bosom the corpse which she can no longer hurt, 
but upon the father, whose struggling heart although 
concealed in the silence of his breast, is sorrounded by 
the adder grasp of grief, and poisoned by drops from 
the serpent tooth of sorrow. Alas! Ere he could dis- 
pel this sorrow his heart was broken. Man staunches 
his wounds and fails a victim to the scar — Woman 
overcomes her sorrow seldom, and yet outlives it. — 
" Remain here," said he, with a tremulous voice, " I 
will lay it at rest before the moon rises." She said no- 
thing, kissed it in silence, crumbled down its garland 
of flowers, — sank upon the sun-dial, and laid her cold 
cheek upon her arm that she might not see her child 
carried away. 

Meanwhile the silver v morn of the moon illumined 



200 THE MOON. 

the still features of the child, and the father said : 
" Break up, oh Moon, that I iriay see the land where 

he dwells Rise up Elysium, that I may imagine I 

behold in thee the place in which his soul resides. — 
Oh child — my darling child, — knowest thou me — 
heardest thou me, — hast thou found a countenance as 
lovely as thine own above — a face as fair? — oh thou 
cherub's lip, thou cherub's eye ! — Alas, there is now no 
spirit stirring within!" 

He spread a bed of flowers beneath the child, in- 
stead of all those things by which we are surrounded 
when laid down to rest amid the silence of the tomb, 
but his heart broke when he was about to cover the 
infant's pallid lips and open eyes with flowers and 
earth, and a stream of tears fell first into the grave. 
When, with the green turf he had raised up the little 
mound, he felt that he was weary of his journey, and 
weary of life, and that in the thin mountain-air his 
breast was falling into ruins — the icy chill of death sat 
down upon his heart. He looked round with a long- 
ing eye for the wretched mother — she had long stood 
trembling behind him — and they fell, in silence, into 
each other's arms, and their eyes could scarce afford 
another tear. 

At length the glorious moon poured her light from 
behind a gleaming icy peak, over the speechless pair, 



THE MOON. 201 

and showed them its white stormless vales, and the 
glimmering light with which it tranquilizes man. — 
" Mother! look up," said Eugenius, " there is thy son 
— hehold upon the moon, the white blooming groves 
in which our boy is wandering." — The father felt a 
burning fire consuming his inmost heart — his eye, from 
gazing upon the moon, grew blind to every thing which 
possessed no light — lofty images placed themselves in 
shining streams before him, and there arose within him, 
thoughts above the level of humanity, and too mighty 
for the grasp of memory, — he heard in bis ear, melo- 
dies like those which charm us in our dreams, melodies 

which cannot be created when awake. Death 

and delight pressed his weary tongue: " Rosamond, 
wherefore sayest thou nothing ? Seest thou thy child ? 
— I look over the wide extended earth, even till I 
reach the moon: there my son flies amid angels — fair 
flowers are his cradle, the zephyr of Spring plays over 
him — children lead him — angels teach him — God loves 
him — oh the darling cherub, thou smilest too, the 
silver light of Paradise flies around thy little mouth, — 
thou knowest no one, and callest for thy parents — 
Rosamond, give me thy hand, we will go, — we will 

die." 

The weak corporeal chain became longer. His ris- 
ing spirit fluttered higher on the boundaries of life. 
Cc 



202 THE MOON. 

He seized the astonished mother with a convulsive 
grasp, and stammered out, as his eye became blind, and 
while sinking to the ground : " Rosamond, where art 
thou — I fly — I die — let us go together!" 

His, heart broke — his spirit fled — but Rosamond re- 
mained not with him, for fate tore her from his dying 
grasp, and threw her back alive upon the earth. She 
felt his hand, and when she found it deadly cold, she 
laid it softly upon her bosom, fell slowly upon her 
bended kness, raised up her face, cheered beyond ex- 
pression ; towards the starry night turned her large and 
happy eyes, dry from their tearless sockets, up into 
heaven, and looked calmly around for some celestial 
form who would descend and bear her up. She firmly 
believed that she would immediately die, and in an im- 
ploring voice said: " Come now, angel of rest, come 
take my heart and carry it to my beloved — angel of 
rest, leave me not so long with the dead. Is there 
nothing invisible around me ? — Angel of death, thou 
must be near me, for thou hast even now torn from my 
embrace, two darling souls, and allowed them to as- 
cend — I am dead too — draw my burning soul from its 
cold kneeling corpse!" 

She looked with a frantic restlessness around the 
empty sky. At that moment a star burned in its quiet 
wilderness, and took its arrowy course to the earth. 



THE JVIOON. 203 

Transported with joy, she extended her arms, and 
thought the angel of rest would have thrown himself 
into her embrace ; — but the star, alas ! disappeared, — 
she remained ; " Not yet, — do I not die yet, merciful 
father?" sighed the poor Rosamond. 

In the east a cloud arose, — passed over the moon, — 
bent its course through the sky, and stood over the 
most tormented heart on earth. She bent back her 
head, and looking up, said with an imploring look; 
" strike down upon my bosom, and release my soul!" 
But as the dark cloud passed over her head, descended 
through the sky, and sank behind the mountains, she 
exclaimed amid a thousand tears: " Can I not die, — 

can I not die?" 

Poor Rosamond ! sorrow coiled itself together, sprang 
serpent-like upon thy breast, and pressed its poisonous 
teeth within; but a compassionate spirit threw the opi- 
um of insensibility over thy heart, and the spasms of 
pain were changed into a gentle thrill. 

She awoke in the morning distracted; she still saw 
the sun and the corpse of her husband, but her eye had 
poured out all its tears, her bursting heart like a crack- 
ed bell had lost all its tones: she murmured merely, 
" wherefore can I not die?" She returned to the hut 
cold and comfortless, but breathed nothing more than 
these words. Every night she visited half an hour la- 



204 THE MOON. 

ter the corpse of her Eugenius, and hit precisely the 
moment of the rising of the waning moon, and said 
while her tearless eye rested upon its decaying form, 
M wherefore can I not die ?" 

Indeed! wherefore canst thou not die sweet soul, 
since the cold earth has already sucked from all thy 
wounds, the hot poison wherewith the human heart is 
palsied? But I turn my eye from this sorrow, and 
look up to the glimmering moon, where Eugenius 
opens his eyes among smiling children, and his own 

dear boy falls fluttering upon his breast How 

silent all is in the dusky entrance of the second world, 
a rainbow of light silvers over the bright fields of the 
first heavens, and little balls of fire hang instead of the 
sparkling dew around the flowers and mountains — the 
azure of the sky* swells darker over the plains of lillies, 
and the tones of music are in the thin atmosphere but 
distant echoes — Night-flowers alone send forth an odour 
and waver sportively around the quiet prospect — there 
the heart is calm — there the eye is dry — there the wish 
is dumb — children flutter like humming bees around 



* The blue colour of the sky must be darker in the Moon 
since the air is more rarified, both of which may be proved up- 
on a mountain. 



THE MOON. 205 

the breast, still throbbing and sunk amongst flowers, 
and the dream of the soul after death represents its 
earthly life, as our dreams here below picture childhood 
with the glowing and magic colouring of perfection. 

Eugenius looked from the moon towards the Earth 
which during the long moon-day of two earthly weeks, 
floated like a thin white cloud in the azure sky; but 
he recognised not his old mother-land. At length the 
Sun went down upon the moon, and our Earth rested 
immoveable, large and glimmering upon the pure hori- 
zon of Elysium, and poured over the odour-breathing 
gardens its soft gleamings, like the prismatic spray of 
the water- fall over the green meadow. Then, he re- 
cognised the world upon which he had left a sore afflic- 
ted heart, and his soul although surrounded by joy, be- 
came filled with sadness and with ceaseless longing for the 
dear object of his former existence, who still mourned in 
that world below. — " O my Rosamond ! wherefore fleest 
thou not from a globe where thou art no longer belov- 
ed?" and he looked beseechingly to the angel of Rest 
and said: " Beloved! Take me from this land of grief 
and conduct me down to my affectionate Rosamond, 
that I may see her, and be the mournful partner of her 
sorrow." Then suddenly his soul as if freed from every 
bond began to fly — clouds fluttered around him as if 
they supported him in his flight, and swelling, carried 



206 THE MOON. 

him away and concealed him in their waves — he sank 
through the rosy glimmer of evening as through bloom- 
ing flowers, and through the succeeding gloom as 
through shady groves, and through a moist atmosphere 
wherein his eye became full of drops — then he heard a 
whisper around him, like an almost forgotten dream of 
childhood — then a distant complaint, which became 
louder and louder — a complaint which opened up afresh 
his closed wounds — the complaint was from Rosamond's 
voice — at length she herself stood before him irrecog- 
nisable, — alone, — hapless, — tearless, — colourless. 

And Rosamond dreamed on Earth, and it seemed to 
her as if the Sun took unto itself wings, and became an 
angel — and she thought the angel drew down the moon, 
which became a face of mildness, and under the ap- 
proaching face, a well known form at length appeared. 
It was Eugenius, and she raised herself to meet him, 
but when wrapt with joy, she gave utterance to the 
exclamation — "Now I am dead!" — the two dreams, his 
and hers both vanished, and the two beings were once 
more severed. 

Eugenius awoke on high, the earth still stood glim- 
mering in the clear sky — his heart palpitated, his eye 
burned with a tear which had never yet fallen upon the 
moon. — Rosamond awoke below, and a large warm 
dew-drop hung in a flower upon her bosom ; the sultry 



THE MOON. 207 

cloud of her soul had fallen down in a soft shower of 
tears, her heart became light and sunny, her eye hung 
softly on the dawning sky, the world was strange to 
her, but not hateful, and her hands moved as if they 
beckoned on those that were dead. 

The angel of rest looked upon the moon — he looked 
upon the earth and was moved with the sighs of men, 
he saw upon the dawning world an eclipse of the sun, 
and a forsaken being; he saw Rosamond during the pas- 
sing darkness, sink down among flowers, which closed 
their beauteous eyes under the gloom; — he saw her 
stretching forth her arms towards the darkened sky full 
of fluttering night-birds, and gazing with ceaseless sighs 
upon the moon which floated trembling in the sun. — 
The angel looked upon the moon, and near him wept 
the immortal, who now beheld the world floating under 
a dark shadow, and unchained in a ring of fire, and 
from whom the weeping form still now wandered upon 
its surface, took away the whole happiness of heaven. 
While to the eye of the angel of rest the heavenly heart 
seemed breaking, he seized the hand of Eugenius, and 
that of his child, and bore both through the second 
world down upon the dark earth. Rosamond saw 
three figures wandering amid the gloom, whose shining 
aspect struck upon the starry sky, and approached to 
meet them ; her husband and her child flew like spring 



208 THE MOON. 

zephyrs to her heart, and said with hastening voice, 
" Dearest, go with us," Her maternal heart burst 
with affection, her earthly hlood stopped, her life was 
out — filled with delight, she stammered out, " must I 
yet not die?" " Thou art already dead, said the com- 
panionate angel of the three affectionate souls, and 
then stands the earthly globe out of which thou hast 
eorae Btill in darkness!" And the waves of celestial 
happiness ilowed high over the world, while its inno- 
cent and joyful inhabitants looked upon our globe which 
still trembled in irloom. 

• * * 

Ye> indeed it is in darkness. But man is higher 
than his place: he looks up, and moves the wings of 
his soul, and when the sixty minutes which we term 
sixty year> have sped their course, then he raises him- 
self, and while ascending catches fire, and the ashes of 
his feathers fall back, and the unbound spirit mounts 
alone, and immaterial as a tone into the heavens above. 
For here amid the gloom of life, man sees the moun- 
tains of a future world standing in the golden mom of 
a sun which never sets ; as the inhabitant of the north 
pole in his long night of darkness, during which that 
luminary never rises, still beholds at the meridian hour, 
a golden morning glow upon his highest mountains, 
and he thinks upon his long summer wherein that rosy 
light never departs. 



THE 



BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 



BY 

A. F. E. LANGBEIN. 



Awa' with your witchcraft o 1 beauty's alarms, 
The slender bit beauty you grasp in your arms, 
O gie me the lass that has acres o' charms, 
O gie me the lass wi' the weel-stockit farms. 
Then hey for the lass wi' a tocher, 
The nice yellow guineas for me. 

Burns. 



Dd 



THE 



BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 



A young Englishman, from gaming, love-affairs, and 
other such gold-scattering enjoyments, had so nearly 
reached the dregs of his great-grandfather's hereditary 
portion, that he could calculate the departing hour of 
his last guinea. As one evening he was returning 
home from one of those haunts of dissipation which he 
habitually frequented, feeble in body as in mind, and 
for the first time in his life, casting a firm look upon 
the ruin of his fortune, he could not well determine, 
whether he should end his troubles by drawing a trig- 
ger, or by throwing himself into the Thames. 

While he thus wavered betwixt fire and water, the 
very profound idea occurred to him, not to lay violent 
hands upon himself, but to allow himself to be con- 
ducted out of the labyrinth of poverty by the fair hand 
of some wealthy bride. With this consoling thought, he 



212 THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 

went to bed, and already in his nocturnal visions the 
rapid racers flew, the fair girls frisked around him, 
both of which, he was happy in thinking he might 
maintain in future, upon the dowry of his wife. 

On the following morning, he reflected anew upon 
his plan, and found it unexceptionable in every point 
excepting the very slight circumstance of not knowing 
when or where he was to find the rich heiress he want- 
ed. In London, where all the world regarded him as 
a spendthrift, it was not once to be thought of. He 
saw that for the future, he must throw his nets out fiber 
when\ 

After much cogitation and searching, he at last hit 
upon an old rieh colonel, living upon his own estate, 
about twenty miles from the capital, who fortunately 
had no acquaintance* in London, and was the father of 
an only daughter, 

Into the house of this gentleman, by means of a 
friend, to whom he promised half the booty, he got him- 
self introduced and received. The daughter of the 
colonel was an awkward country girl, with round chub- 
by cheeks like Reuben's cherubims, and looked parti- 
cularly odd in the hand-me-down attire of her sainted 
mother, which did not at all fit her, and was of course 
not of the most fashionable : cut. Her mind too, was as 
attractive as her attire. She could only talk of hens 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 213 

and geese, and when any other topic came above board, 
her conversation was limited to a "yes, yes," or a " no, 
no;" all beyond this, seemed to her sinful. 

This wooden puppet was indeed a mighty contrast 
to the sprightly, gay, and lively nymphs with whom 
the young Briton had, until this period, been toying ; 
but he carefully confined to the solitude of his own bo- 
som, the disagreeable feeling of this heaven-and-eartb 
distant difference. His flattering tongue called the 
girl's silliness, celestial innocence, and her red swollen 
cheeks, he likened to the beauty of the full-blown 
damask rose. The end of the song was, he turned 
to the father and sued warmly for his daughter's hand. 

The Colonel, during his sixty years' career through 
the world, had collected this much knowledge of man- 
kind, that however slyly the young man had masked 
himself, he could, nevertheless, discover the fortune- 
hunter peeping though the disguise. At first, therefore, 
he thought of peremptorily refusing him permission to 
woo his daughter, but on the other hand, he thought, 
" the youth is fashionable, and perhaps I may be doing 
him injustice; — he, as yet, betrays no anxiety about 
the portion, and why should the girl, who is mar- 
riageable, remain longer at home. His request shall 
be granted, — but his apparent disinterestedness shall 
stand a decisive trial." 



214 THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 

The suitor was then informed that the father had no 
objections to the match, provided his daughter would 
give her consent, and she — poor thing, replied as in 
duty bound — " My fathers will is mine!" Indeed, 
could any thing else he expected? 

In the course of a few weeks, the marriage ceremony 
was performed at the country-house of the Colonel, 
and he instantly made his son-in-law acquainted with 
his wife's portion, which in German money might 
amount to thirty thousand dollars. The dissembler 
acted as if he wished to know nothing about the mat- 
ter, and solemnly vowed that he had not, as yet, 
thought on such things, but had regarded only the 
noble qualities of his charming wife, whose pure self 
WBB dearer to him f ' an all the treasures of the world. 

Upon this they Bat down to table, and the father-in- 
law urged and begged, that they would make as much 
Jia-te as possible, as it was his intention that the young 
married people should set off that very afternoon for 
London, and that he should accompany them. 

The son-in-law was confounded, and began to make 
some excuses about travelling on the first day of his 
happiness, but the soldier maintained that these were 
futile, assuring him that be had particular reasons for 
proceeding forthwith to the capital, and that his matri- 
monial joys would be as well realised in London as in 



THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 215 

the country. — What was to be done ? — Why, the jour- 
ney was immediately undertaken. The old man se- 
cured in a small casket, before the eyes of the bride- 
groom, the portion of the bride, partly in gold and 
partly in bank notes, took it under his arm, and placed 
himself by the side of the young people in the carriage. 

The road ran through a forest, and scarcely had they 
fairly entered it, when two horsemen darted out from 
the brush-wood with masks upon their faces, and stop- 
ped the carriage. One of the persons watched the pos- 
tillion with a presented pistol, while the other approach- 
ed the coach window and said: " We are adventurers 
and request you to give us up instantly the portion of 
the bride !" 

The Colonel and his son in law, swore and ranted, 
but the robber coolly insisted upon his demand. After 
some parleying however, the horseman bent towards the 
young man and whispered in his ear! " That you 
may see we are most reasonable men, we leave you 
the choice of two things, — give us either the bride or 
her portion ? For certain reasons it is quite immaterial 
to us, and moreover no one shall ever know your de- 
cision. " 

The bridegroom did not think long about the matter 
for he whispered : " take the bride !" " Brother," cried 



216 THE BRIDEGROOM'S PROBATION. 

the robber to his accomplice : " We shall take the 
bride!" 

In the twinkling of an eye, the Soldier seized his 
gentle son-in-law by the neck, shook him violently, 
and exclaimed with a thundering voice, "Ha! villain 1 
So my conjecture was not unfounded, that you cared 
not for my daughter but merely for her fortune ! God 
be praised, that my child and my money are not yet ir- 
revocably in your clutches ; know then, knave ! the 
man who married you, was no Clergyman, he was a 
brother soldier in priest's attire, and these Gentlemen 
are no highwaymen, but friends who have done me the 
service of proving you. Since then you have laid open 
your whole vileness, we shall have no more connexion. 
I shall return home with my daughter and my money, 
and you may go to London, or to the devil ! " 

With these words he transplanted the astonished 
bridegroom with a kick, from the carriage to the 
road, and ordered the postillion to turn about. The out- 
law trudged back to London, and had while upon the 
road, the fairest and best opportunity of determining 
whether he should now use a pistol or throw himself 
into the rirer. 



THE BROKEN LEG. 



A. F. E. LANGBEIN. 



Go fetch a quart of Sack; put a toast in't, 
Well, if I be served such another trick, I'll 
Have rny brains ta'en out and buttered, 
And give them to a dog for a new year's gift. 

Shakespeare, 



E e 



THE BROKEN LEG. 



Bonnard appeared at all times, and every where, be- 
fore raid-day, a prudent and amiable man, but after din- 
ner, and in the evening, he was not always precisely 
so. In fact, he was a true son of the ancient Germans, 
so often reproached for a love of drinking, and knew 
no greater enjoyment, than that of singing amidst con- 
vivial friends, the inspiring songs of " Enjoy the charm 
of life" — " With laurel crown the flowing bowl," and 
in emptying out a flask of good old Hochheimer, as an 
accompaniment. Had he been satisfied with one flask, 
nobody would have had a right to say aught against him, 
especially as his income permitted it ; but one flask ever 
and anon called for another, coupled with the proverb, 
" that a man cannot stand upon one leg,"or « that three 
all the world over is a lucky number." Alas! he was 



220 THE BROKEN LEG. 

not at a loss to find wise saws and proverbs, as an ex- 
cuse for a fourth, fifth, and even a sixth flask. 

The mother, sisters, and brothers, with whom he 
resided, had the mortification of seeing him return 
home almost every night, perfectly intoxicated. Their 
most urgent remonstrances were fruitless, and they 
began to think that his drunkenness was incurable. 
Laura, Bonnard's sweetheart, thought so too, for after 
innumerable little quarrels, a complete breach was at 
length made between the two lovers, who indeed were 
almost as much as betrothed. 

From that moment he sank deeper. He had until 
this time, from a respect to Laura, maintained at least 
the outward appearance of good manners, but now he 
became a shameless and notorious drunkard. No night 
passed, that he had not a scuffle with watchmen, or 
slept off his intoxication in a round-house. His health 
thereby began visibly to be injured, and his fortune to 
melt away. In short, he was upon the brink of ruin. 

Two of his friends, who, although they often drank 
with him, always kept themselves within the bounds of 
moderation, were much grieved at his conduct, and re- 
solved to reclaim the drinker, by a method not the 
most common in the world. With this view, they one 
evening accompanied Bonnard to a public wine-cellar, 
and appeared in particularly high spirits. Bonnard's 



THE BROKEN LEG. 221 

favourite Hochheimer was called for, and they encou- 
raged him to quaff as much of it as he liked, and that 
was no small doze. He drank himself into the clouds. 

Towards midnight; the two friends began to yawn, 
shut their eyes, and seemed to fall asleep. Bonnard 
was delighted, for he could now drink another flask 
without being reproved by them. Before however he 
had finished it, intoxication reached its highest pitch, 
and he at length fell, deprived of reason, into a sound 
and death-like sleep. 

His friends instantly started up from their pretended 
slumber, shook and jogged him, and to their great joy 
found that he exhibited no symptoms of wakefulness. 
By a sign which was previously agreed upon, they now 
called in a surgeon, who was waiting in the adjoining 
apartment. He immediately entered, bringing with 
him splints and other implements for a broken leg, and 
soon laced up the right limb of the sleeper, as tightly 
as if it had been most dangerously fractured. Upon this 
they sprinkled water upon his face, and gave a fearful 
thundering cry. 

The sleeper started up — seized instantly his leg 
which the splints squeezed, and wished to rise from the 
chair; his friends however held him fast, crying out, 
" Unfortunate Man! stir not — you have received a 
dangerous contusion. We had scarcely fallen asleep 



222 THE BROKEN LEG. 

till in attempting to go down stairs, you fell, broke your 
leg, and fainted. Upon that we awakened, raised you 
up, and caused you to be dressed. In heaven's name ! 
stir not for your life ! We have ordered a litter, and 
it will be here immediately to carry you home." 

Bonnard was delirious; — his fancy magnified the 
pressure of the splints to the pain of a real broken 
limb, and never once imagining that he was deceived, 
permitted himself to be borne home lamenting. 

There, his family received him,, as was concerted, 
with tears and wailings. For four weeks he continued 
to be visited by the surgeon, who kept his leg squeezed 
into a case, so that he could not move himself, nor even 
entertain a suspicion of his own perfect health. So long 
an imprisonment was unbearable ; — he cursed wine as 
the cause of Ids misfortunes, and made a solemn vow 
never to get drunk in future. 

At the expiration of a month, the surgeon informed 
him the cure was completed. He went as if upon 
eggs to save his broken leg, and his first walk was to 
the house of his sweetheart, whom he anxiously en- 
treated to forget the past, and once more to reinstate 
him in her affections. She promised both on condi- 
tion of a temperate year's probation. He kept it man- 
fully, and then became the husband of his Laura, and 
continued during the course of his life, an orderly, res- 



THE BROKEN LEG, 223 

pectable man, who never at any one time drank more 
than he could carry. 

After several years, Bonnard for the first time, dis- 
covered the trick that had been played upon him ; he 
thanked his friends heartily for it, and began once more 
to tread firmly on his right leg, the straining of which 
he had always until then most carefully avoided, 



THE 



HAUNTED CASTLE. 



AUGUSTUS LA FONTAINE. 



Auream quisqiiis mediocritatem 
Diligit, tutus caret obsoleti 
Sordibus tecti ; caret invidenda, 
Sobrius aula. 

Horace) lib. ii. od. x. 



Ff 



THE 



HAUNTED CASTLE. 



Annette had come with her brother Herr Traugott 
Lehman to the baths at Ems, and while he on the night 
of their arrival, was reading aloud a description of the 
baths and the surrounding scenery, and had hit upon a 
highly poetical account of the neighbouring mountain 
with its enchanting ruins, and a popular story of a cas- 
tle-spirit which haunted it, — Annette started up and 
exclaimed ; " I will go thither to-morrow morning." On 
the following morning therefore, the lovely girl lightly 
dressed, — a straw bonnet over her luxuriant hair, and 
attended by a maid who carried provisions for the day, 
ascended the mountain, but saw none of the beauties 
which were detailed in the description. In the Ruins 
however she met two young men who politely entered 
into conversation with her. 



228 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

Annette answered with perfect good humour, kind- 
ly, and quite innocently. One of the two took her hand 
which she willingly gave ; but when after this very un- 
ceremonious introduction he wished to take more than 
the most harmless innocence would permit, to his as- 
tonishment he received from the young heroine a smart 
slap — " What?" cried he, angrily, — " yet thoushalt." — 
At that instant a third young man entered the Ruins, 
and Annette exclaimed, " There comes my Brother." 

" What is the matter?" cried he, " What is the 
matter Sister? What do you want gentlemen?" 

The gentlemen drew their hats scornfully over their 
brow, but two large English dogs appearing, they went 
whistling and laughing down the mountain, and sang 
a guadeamus when they reached the bottom. 

"Well Sister?" 

Annette replied blushing, — " I only took the liberty 
of saying so, my dear Sir; and I thank you heartily 
for permitting it," added she, offering him her hand. 

Annette now told him that it was the story of the 
Castle-spirit that had attracted her to the mountain; 
"and really," continued she, smiling and looking him 
in the face, " the dark quiet gloom of a thick forest is 
well suited to the world of spirits, — Don't you think 
so? — and the sweet terror." — " You love the world of 
spirits, Sister?" "Why yes! — W T e are indeed as much 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 229 

at home in it as in real life, — don't you think so? 
For what is Life even at its best? Labour, pleasure, 
smiling, talking; — I might almost say nothing. But in 
the still night, the better world, — aye the better world 
arises. There is heaven with its thousand bright eyes, 
the stars, and from the wood there comes the tones of 
Herr Goldman's flute; then there arises in my bosom a 
calmer and a lovelier world; and although they are but 
dreams which then occupy my thoughts, yet they are 
more pleasing than life, — don't you think so?" 

" Worthy Sister," cried the young man, rising up 
with great emotion from the rock upon which they 
were sitting, " Tis veiy true, 'tis very true! But this 
life also is lovely!" said he, sitting down again, " in 
truth it is lovely ! very lovely !" while he looked at the 
girl seriously. 

He now remarked for the first time the beautiful oval 
of her countenance, her clear blue eyes beaming be- 
neath arches of the darkest brown, the laughing dim- 
ples in the fresh roses of her cheeks, — her love-in- 
spiring mouth, — her graceful, youthful, slender figure. 

He accompanied her through the ruins, and after an 
hour of lively tittle-tattle, learned that she had en- 
tered upon her eighteenth year, that she lived among 
the mountains of Waldweiler, not far from Heidelberg, 
and that this expedition to Ems was her first entrance 



230 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

into the world — She now took a flask of wine and 
some bread from the basket of her attendant, covered a 
portion of rock with a cloth, and invited her friend with 
the kindest looks to the table, who made indeed a feast 
like that of the gods, and while he left her just before 
entering Ems with a tender pressure of the hand, and 
with these words — " Farewell, dearest sister Annette, 
Farewell!" she remained standing as long as she could 
see him. It now occurred to her with sorrow that she 
had not asked him to pay her a visit at Waldweiler ; 
and her smooth brow became wrinkled when she re- 
collected that she had never once thought of asking his 
name, — " for he is so good — so mild ! I shall often, 
often think of him." Saying these words she entered the 
room where her brother was sitting. 

" Of whom Annette?" asked he. 

Annette related her little adventure. 

" Thou shouldest have asked him." 

" Yes indeed ! And no one is so sorry at the ne- 
glect as myself." 

" And the Castle-spirit, there, Annette?" 

" He did not laugh like you brother, when I told 
him of our Castle-spirit." 

" Thou art a little fool, for all the StafT-trumpeter 
says." 

" He did not laugh, Traugott, like you." 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 231 

The story of Waldweiler was this — Traugott had 
purchased a small property near Waldweiler, upon 
which he lived. The village, his barns, and cattle- 
yard, lay upon the other side of a brook, about a mile 
from his dwelling-house. The village was not for him : 
for it was a catholic one, and Traugott was a zealous 
protestant. On the other side, lay an old Pheasant- 
walk ; the small house was kept in good repair, but the 
little wood, which formerly served as a cover to the 
pheasants, was now changed into fields and gardens. 
In the house, the overseer of the pheasants, Herr Gold- 
mann lived, along with his young wife and a brother, 
who as a staff-trumpeter, had lost a leg in the field, and 
spent in quietness, his small pension, with his brother. 

Herr Traugott made frequent visits here. The three 
men pleased each other, but the trumpeter, with his 
stories of the wars, and his mild disposition, (for he had 
now nothing remaining of the life he had led, except 
his pension, and his music, which seemed to afford 
him unceasing delight,) was the soul of the trio. 

Between the pheasant walk, and Traugott's dwel- 
ling, lay a wild rocky place, surrounded by a thick 
wood of oaks, and between the rocks lay a ruin, not 
much decayed, which had however remained uninha- 
bited for a considerable time. It belonged, together 
with the wood, to a Herr von Hagenbruch, and the 



232 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

story went, that one brother had murdered another, 
since which the castle had remained unoccupied. A 
high stone cross, with an effaced inscription, points out 
the spot where the blood was spilt, and beneath the 
cross, which unfortunately stands at the entrance of the 
wood, the whole country said, that every night the 
spirit of the murdered brother took its seat. Although 
Herr Traugott laughed at the story, still he went al- 
ways as far round from the entrance of the wood as 
any one. 

Traugott had taken his step-sister Annette, a child of 
three years of age, home to his own house. Madame 
Goldmann had had a daughter, who after a very long 
deliberation of both families, who had become daily 
more and more intimate, and after the final opinion 
of the staff- trumpeter, who without being aware of it, 
had fallen a little into the sentimental, received the 
name of Selena. Heaven knows where he had picked 
up the Grecian name. 

" A boy is now all that is wanted," cried the staff- 
trumpeter, tenderly to his sister-in-law. 

To the boy, the three friends drunk one flask of old 
Bergstrasser, another, and again another, till Traugott 
at length, much gayer than usual, rose up about mid- 
night to go home. 

" Take care of the Castle-spirit," cried the trumpe- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. ^3S 

ter to him, " for some wood-thieves a few nights ago, 
saw a light in the valley, and heard singing." 

Traugott raised up his stick, and exclaimed coura- 
geously, "Fools! — I will go straight up to the cross 
itself, in spite of the spirit!" — and he kept his word. 

But when he turned in that direction, and saw under 
the cross, a white figure sitting, his foot became root- 
ed to the spot. 

" Who is there?" said a pitiful voice. 
" Traugott!" cried he, trembling, trusting more to 
his Christian than to his paternal name. 

The figure approached and said: "There, take 
what you have this day wished for, — a boy; keep him 
as your own son!" 

In an instant he had a child in his arms, and the 
figure disappeared behind the cross. 

" When Traugott again recovered his senses, he said 
softly, " some roguish trick, no doubt!" but still he 
went far about to avoid the enchanted spot, and got 
home he knew not how. 

" Blockhead that I am!" cried he, as he went into 

his room, but the appearance of the sleeping boy, was 

so sweet and so calm, that it soothed him immediately. 

He laid him in the bed which the trumpeter occu^ 

pied when he remained at night, and on the following 



Gg 



234* THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

morning they arrived at Goldmann's, agreeable to an 
iavitation. 

Traugott told bis story, and put in the word 
" knaves," a dozen times during the relation. 

" How could the lady know what we were wish- 
ing for ?" said the trumpeter. 

" She has heard! she has heard! for you roared as 
loud as your own trumpet." 

Be that as it may — the boy was there? an angel to 
boot, prattling sweetly in broken German, at which 
Traugott was vexed anew, but with such a musical 
insinuating voice as made all well again: the boy 
called himself Julio, from which the trumpeter, who 
had performed at the Opera in Munich was satisfied 
that he was an Italian. His soft blue eyes contradic- 
ted it. Enough, the boy was there, and on Selena's 
baptismal day the three honest men drank to the health 
of Selena and Julio, and at last also to the health of 
the white lady of the castle. 

The hearts of the old people were more and more 
closely united. They were good souls, and the devil 
found among them no bosom full of envy, no head full 
of proud learning ; nor in either house any pompous dis- 
play of furniture, where he could lay his egg of hatred, 
and even had he found the smallest place to lay it, the 
trumpeter with his mild disposition, or the three affec- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 235 

tionate children with their ardent love for each other, 
would have made it a wind-egg. 

Goldinann and Traugott played draughts ; the young 
housewife sat near them, looking on kindly, and be- 
wailing the fate of him who lost; the trumpeter lay 
beneath the lime-tree with his flute, or in the evening 
with his horn; the three children — three very cherubs, 
played around him. attempting the first note of every 
tune, teased him continually, but loved him without 
measure. 

Years thus passed on, for the honest people never 
thought that any thing else could belong to this life, 
but being happy and loving one another. But Trau- 
gott, who sometimes thought a little more, cried one 
day, "Julio should now read!" And when Julio 
stared at him, he proceeded and said, " that the white 
lady, be she who she may, had commanded him to 
act towards the boy as a father, and the young man is 
now six years of age and cannot read! — And of the 
Heidelberg Catechism— it is a shame — to know noth- 
ing." 

The nearest village was too far distant; and the 
trumpeter took upon himself to teach the young people 
as well as he could, but he blushed when he thought 
how little he could teach them. 

Traugott's anger disappeared, but the trumpeter's 



236 THE HAUNTED CASTLE, 

zeal did not. Julio was ashamed at Traugott' s re* 
proaches. He learned the letters along with Annette. 
The reward of their diligence was a faiiy tale or a 
ghost-story. When Annette and Julio could read — 
oh thou worthy man with thy wooden leg! — he had 
for a long time heard the players declaim at Munich, 
and declamation to him was reading, — so he read be- 
fore the children, first a monologue from a prose trage- 
dy, and then iambics from Schiller's Don Carlos; plays 
were the only books that were in the house; the trum- 
peter had brought them home along with him. 

The trumpeter always stopped in his lessons, till 
the three children could read properly the forego- 
ing passage. Like a music-master, he pardoned not 
the least unclearness of voice ; no lisp, no hollow tone. 
He made use of his flute also at the reading, and he 
thought that should be done. In short, when he held, 
in presence of the old people, his first examination, 
which consisted of a few scenes from Don Carlos, their 
eyes swam with tears of joy, and their hearts beat with 
the warmest emotion. 

" But the catechism?" — cried Traugott. 

" I do what I can/' 

" Leave it to the trumpeter, Traugott, if he, with a 
heart wherein God has indeed a habitation does not 
make the children pious, who could do so? 5 ' 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 237 

The brothers extended towards him their hands, and 
the whole education of the children was henceforth so- 
lemnly given up to the old soldier. 

" With all my heart I" cried the trumpeter, spring- 
ing up and pressing the children to his overflowing 
heart. 

What he had in his heart, and happily he had every 
thing that was amiable in it, he participated with his 
pupils. — An hundred times had he felt that music was 
a ladder, upon which angels descended to men, and 
men ascended to angels; and often had he felt when he 
put his flute to his lips, and when the still night hung 
over his head, how courageously he stepped to the very 
entrance of the wood, reconciled even with the an- 
gry spirits. He felt, only he did not say so, how 
much more valuable than the Heidelberg Catechism, 
which he never rightly comprehended, how much more 
valuable it was, when he stood with the children wait- 
ing on the height for the rising of the sun, and when he 
put his horn to his mouth, while his eyes and those of 
his pupils pervaded the scenes that lay below them ; and 
tuned their voices to " Praise the Lord," with hands 
that clasped of their own accord, with eyes in which 
tears were trembling. Then he saw the angel visibly 
rising with the sun, and descending upon his beams,- — 
then he threw his horn upon the ground and his knees 



238 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

along with it, while the children kneeled around him. 
Or when in the evening, the full moon rose over the 
silent plain, and threw her silvery light over the trem- 
bling brook, when Annette, but ten years old, beautiful 
as Darthula, raised her soft voice and sang, " lovely art 
thou daughter of Heaven, charming in the calmness of 
thy countenance ! lovely thou comest forth !" — then all 
of them cast down a longing look towards the valley, 
the quiet abode of spirits. 

They were all now satisfied with the education of 
the children; even Traugott cried, "I cannot conceive 
how the children speak so well. There must have 
been something remarkable put into them. He knew 
not that they spoke the sacred words of poetry, even 
because they were poets. It was not once remarked, 
that either nature or the trumpeter had given them 
the finest voices, and the most correct ears for harmo- 
ny : nor had any one noticed that they all sung easily 
from the notes, — that Julio played the flute well, and 
that the girls touched the piano -forte, (which had been 
procured at common cost), with very considerable feel- 
ing. And what was much better, from copying music, 
they also learned to write. Annette must keep her 
father's register, and all that Traugott said of the regis- 
ter was, that " the girl had a pretty hand." And An- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 239 

nette bad two of the prettiest hands in the world, 
though no one remarked them. 

The girls grew up, without any one having said 
"how beautiful they were." The devil might have 
watched for that, but in vain. Julio never once said 
so ; for the poor youth knew it not. In his fourteenth 
year, the staff-trumpeter placed him upon horseback, 
and exercised him as hard as if he had been about to 
enter the hussars immediately. 

The girls superintended the household matters. The 

kitchen, the garden, and the table, they attended to, 

because all the world did so. Then off to the haunted 

valley, in the direction of Goldmann's or Traugott's. 

— They were truly happy. 

Traugott, who as has been said, had his peculiarities, 
and looked more than the others into futurity, had de- 
sired his friends, that Julio should go under the name 
of Annette's brother. The pheasant-inspector, who 
thought of nothing at all, and the Staff-trumpeter, who 
thought on no other futurity, save a sinful one, had no 
objection to it; and it was therefore natural, that all the 
affections which fair nature called forth in the heart of 
Julio, were poured out upon Selena. 

This love-affair however, held its course over so even 
a bed, and encountering only flowers which bloomed 
upon its banks, raised so few waves, that its existence 



240 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

was neither apparent to the lovers, nor to the old peo- 
ple. 

Julio and Annette were eighteen, and Selena fifteen, 
when Herr Traugott went with Annette to Ems, to 
dispel a fit of the gout. 

This was a journey round the world. For three 
days, the little society were occupied with taking fare- 
wells. Their hearts had become so tender, that Trau- 
gott would have almost come out of the carriage. 

"Alas!'' said Julio, "Alas Selena, how shall we 
pass the four weeks?" ; 

" I cannot imagine," said Selena. And although 
every day that they were alone, shed down a thousand 
heavenly feelings upon the lovers, and their hearts ex- 
perienced more and more transporting presentiments, 
— for love for the first time, had moved in their bosoms 
his golden wings, — still they sighed at the close of every 
day for Annette — their absent Annette. 

At the end of four weeks, Annette returned ; she 
brought along with her at least ten new fashions, a 
hundred new, perfectly new representations of the 
world, and of its inhabitants, particularly of the men, 
all of whom, believe me, Selena, an honourable girl 
cannot be too careful. " But," continued she, — and 
now her eye, her cheek, and her bosom seemed glow- 
ing with animation, " but I must except one, don't you 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 24tl 

think so, brother, — my mountain companion? Oh Se- 
lena, oh mother, and you, Herr Staff-trumpeter, could 
I but describe to you, the amiable and sympathising 
look of his large clear eyes, and how they met mine, 
when I told him of our happiness, or give you an idea 
of the lovely and winning tones of his heart-touching 
voice, soft as the echo from the distant rock ! Could 
I but paint to you the happiness I felt, when he gent- 
ly pressed my hand, and when I sat close by him upon 
the narrow rock ! Alas, I believe I know what all of 
you are ignorant of." 

" I know it Annette !" blundered out Selena. 

" It is my opinion Annette is in love with the un- 
known," said the mother smiling. Annette blushed. 
Selena accompanied her. Both hearts were touched 
at the same moment. 

The two girls went away arm in arm ; they looked 
at each other with beaming, divining, and foreboding 
eyes, took one another in their arms and blushed anew; 
but the lovely blush of modesty veiled the sweet secret. 
Now every thing about the three young people had 
got wings; their walking, their singing, their speaking, 
their fancies, their feelings, their dreams by day and 
night. 

The staff- trumpeter could not conceive, how, all at 
once, Julio's soul was filled with aspirations after fame 
Hh 






242 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

and mighty deeds. He would, like Huon, go to Bag- 
dad; like the Knight-templar, he would make a pilgri- 
mage to the holy sepulchre ; he knew no other heroes 
so romantic. He strolled further from home than 
usual, and returned continually with a full heart. 

One day he bent his steps boldly into the haunted 
valley, to see the spirit. All was still and solitary. He 
approached the castle — with secret horror he entered it 
— opened a door that led into a furnished room, but 
which from the thick dust that covered every thing, must 
have been long untenanted ; he entered another room, 
and upon the window-glass saw these words scratched; 
" Farewell, Julio !" The sight of this, the motionless 
stillness of every thing around, and the twilight gloom 
of the dismal apartment — for the gothic windows were 
covered with ivy, filled him with sudden fear; he 
opened a window, to have but a glimpse of the clear 
sky, when lo ! there sounded a clear tone behind him 
— the string of a guitar had snapped from the inrushing 
air — he started and fled. He thought he heard a 
voice calling " Julio! Julio!" but it was only his fancy. 
He hurried home, but spoke not of his adventure. 

In his rambles a few days afterwards, he met a young 
man who had lost his way in the wood ; his road leading 
through Waldweiler, he and Julio went on together. 

The stranger came to close quarters with his com- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 243 

panion, but knew not very well what to make of a young- 
man whose speech was so polished, but whose fancy 
was so wild. 

Near to Waldweiler they were met by the two girls. 
If the stranger was astonished at Julio, he was still 
more so at the appearance of Annette and Selena. 
Their dress was quite out of the fashion, nay almost 
fantastic, and yet withal was peculiarly becoming, while 
their conversation though replete with the finest feel- 
ings, was at times very odd and singular ; — the girls how- 
ever were Venuses, and the innocent confidence and 
unsuspecting cordiality with which they talked, roused 
his best feelings. They came up with the Staff-trum- 
peter. The young man on the way had his attention di- 
vided between Annette and Selena; but at last it seem- 
ed as if he had fallen into deep thought; for before the 
threshold of the house his foot slipped, " as if he were 
conscious of doing something bad," said Annette to 
Julio, on their return home in the evening. 

He avoided the look of the innocent Selena's par- 
ents, but they were even as innocent and unsuspecting 
as their child. They received him heartily, begged 
him to remain all night, and Julio entreated most, for 
his heart warmed towards the young man, merely be- 
cause he was a man. 

Annette asked the stranger's name. She did not 



244 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

wish to commit her former fault. He stammered, and 
then replied in a hesitating voice: — "Myname is Hu- 
nold!" 

The family of Traugott separated as usual from the 
other, in the evening, and Hunold, who along with Se- 
lena had escorted Annette home, returned alone on one 
of the loveliest of summer evenings. 

With the most harmless innocence, the lovely girl 
accompanied by her graceful companion, chose not the 
nearest road home, and during their walk told him the 
connexion which linked the two families together, and 
answered his various, questions not put without an ob- 
ject, with the strictest fidelity. 

In the stranger's bosom something gloomy raged. So 
much innocence, so much beauty, such bewitching con- 
fidence he had never seen before. The fair Selena 
was even already as if she had long been the object of 
his affections. 

On the following morning he was requested anew to 
spend another day, and Selena asked him so pressingly 
that he consented. In return, Selena shewed him the 
whole beauties of the neighbourhood — the valley of the 
Spirit — Traugott's house, the height for the morning 
praise, the hill where Annette saluted the moon with 
the song of Ossian. 






THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 245 

She must indeed sing him the song — No ! He had 
never heard such singing, 

She then drew a picture of their happy life — No! 
He had never seen such happy people, and even while 
he thought so, and while he cast a look of inward emo- 
tion upon Selena, he resolved that the lovely girl 
should become his prize, and — the miscreant! Thou 
wouldst make the happy miserable? 

The stranger was the Freiherr Von Plantau, a hand- 
some man, who had learnt and practised in the gay 
world all the arts of seduction. In his own circle he 
was considered highly educated, generous, and a man 
of honour too. Rich he was not, for his father who 
was still alive, had in the struggle after renown and rank, 
dissipated the greater part of his hereditary property: 
the son sought to regain it. 

At mid-day, Von Plantau, the trumpeter, and Selena 
proceeded to Traugott's, and when near the house, 
Annette flew towards the latter, exclaiming, " we have 
got a visitor also — the stranger from Ems ; his name is 
Ranch, a pretty name, is it not?" 

The parties approached. The stranger from Ems in 
a light hunting dress, stretched out his hand with a 
peculiar emotion, to the trumpeter, and said, " I have 
been delighting myself for six weeks in the prospect of 
this hour:" — And then becoming still more moved. 



246 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

added, " and all I see and hear around me, gracious 
Goc!" The staff-trumpeter blushed, but in ten min- 
utes Rauch and he were friends, and the former said 
to Annette: " Oh what a heart he has! — Now I 
conceive it. — Oh yes. — Now I can conceive it!" 

The Freiherr and Rauch, who begged both families 
to call him by his christian name " George,'' recognis- 
ed one another immediately as fashionable men ; they 
conducted themselves agreeably towards each other; 
but the Freiherr avoided as much as possible the eye of 
the other, who often threw a look of earnestness upon 
him when occupied with Selena. Von Plantau wished 
George at the devil, and as he still remained, he resolved 
to go himself. 

Von Plantau upon his return, told Selena's mother 
that he had a small but valuable property near Cob- 
lentz, but that he would rather have lost that property 
altogether, than the fortunate circumstances that made 
him acquainted with her and her daughter. " We will 
see," thought he, " what fruit this will bring forth !" 

On the following morning, after a very tender parting 
with Selena, he took leave of his kind hosts. — A plea- 
sant journey to you, knave ! 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 24tf 

LETTER 

FROM GEORGE TO DOCTOR STEIGER. 



I ask myself often, my dear doctor, is it a dream or 
is it reality ? It is well I wrote to yon from Ems ; for 
now I may be perhaps silent altogether. But no! 
For I am determined to tell you at once every thing 
that happened to me during the eight years you were 
in Russia. You know my mother s brother, the noble 
colonel. I entered the world gaily and thoughtlessly, 
like every young fellow, but I soon enough discovered 
how few of the plans of a youthful high-beating heart 
prove successful. " What have you to do with this 
scoundrel ?" — or, " with that ragamuffin?" said my un- 
cle — " What does it signify to you how the merciful 
God regulates his world? In the situation in which 
you are placed put your trust in heaven, and build up- 
on virtue as a foundation, a paradise within your own 
bosom for yourself and others around you. Of this 
alone will the angel of death demand an account, 
and not of the good fortune or the success of man- 
kind." 



248 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

I lost courage, I wished to return to my solitude, 
but my uncle said to me anew ; " George, you are born 
to work, to labour for your support — make choice of a 
profession. You must do so immediately!" 

I chose the sword.— The Colonel was pleased at my 
choice, though he grumbled. I fought by his side, and 
had the inexpressible pleasure of saving his life. Oh 
Steiger ! dare I speak to you of it. — In the morning 
when the rising dust declared the approach of the foe 
— when a gust of wind again dispelled that dust, and 
in the blight beams of a morning sun the army stood in 
blazing pomp upon the height — when the three signal 
guns gave the fearful word for slaughter, and death in 
a thousand horrid shapes raged furiously over the wide 
extended field of blood and carnage, and when the 
whole line of cavalry — I along with them, dashed for- 
ward like destruction's withering blast — then in the 
proud conviction of human power, I felt a moment 
truly happy. — And the victory! — Oh my friend, is 
there a more ecstatic moment than this? I know 
none. — But then the field of battle — the groans and 
parting sighs of dying warriors! — 

I was thankful for the peace — I devoted myself to 

the study of the law — my uncle wished it " Do what 

thou canst George !" I interested myself for an inno- 
cent child of misfortune, whose destruction was sought 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 249 

I pointed out injustice to the judge — the victim of per- 
secution was saved. 

I was led however into a snare which I could hard- 
ly see, and so received my dismissal, " Tis as it ought 
to be," said my uncle, " 'Tis as it ought to be, George/' 

I loved a girl — I was beloved — I waited upon her — 
she received me coldly. Her father told me, that with 
my principles, no girl could venture to give me her 
hand. The devil! — with the principles of probity? 
But it was even so, I was requested to stay away. 

" Pooh! pooh! — Thank God, George," said the Co- 
lonel, " yet if their is happiness on earth, it is to be 
found in the love of an innocent wife, and amiable 
children" — he wiped a tear from his eye, — he himself 
had lost a faithful wife, and an only son. 

" Go upon your travels," continued he, " for the 
misery is, that girls love men more for their profes- 
sions, their titles, their large houses, and their honours, 
than for their hearts ; at the most, they love only the 
love which man feels towards them, not the man him- 
self — only the follies of love, not love itself — only the 
vows of fidelity, not fidelity itself. The love of wo- 
man is like a comedy — the curtain drops when it ar- 
rives at matrimony. Alas! I once found a woman, 
George — my dear Frederica! oh! my darling boy!" 

He said this, and I departed. Three years after, 
I i 



250 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

on my return home, I met upon the mountain at Ems 
with that sweet girl of whom I wrote you. 

I had resolved not to see the girl again ; and even 
though my uncle — he wears the chains over which he 
jested ; I could conceive him saying, " thou the noble 
Freiherr von Plantau?" I feel that also my friend. 
However here I am again — here with the girl too, — 
and I ask myself, " is it a dream, or is it reality that I 
see ?" 

Do you see, dear doctor, I have written already to 
you what a deep impression this girl, with her natural 
and moving simplicity, with her pure and lofty mind, 
and let me add, with the unvarnished beauty of her 
youthful form — of her beauty?~I might call it the love- 
ly covering of the soul — had made upon my heart, — my 
heart? wherefore not my senses? No! upon the in- 
ward unspotted sanctuary of my soul it was made! — 
In her society I was as if in a new world, in a paradise 
among angels. — And yet I resolved to see her no more. 
In four weeks however, I went up the Rhine, over Brin- 
gen, towards Ingelheim, and came nearer Heidelberg, 
my steps were drawn towards it as if by a magic power. 

I said " I feel I have told a falsehood, — who knows 
however? Time and place may have had their share 
in it too ; who knows but the enchantment may be dis- 
pelled when I see her in her own house." 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 251 

I went nearer to Waldweiler where she dwelt, smil- 
ing at myself, nay even jesting. 

A young man of eighteen met me — I asked for 
Waldweiler — for Herr Traugott Lehmann. 

" That is my brother," said he — " You are Julio 
then, Annette's brother?" 

"And you are the stranger of Ems?" rejoined he, 
"are you not? — a thousand welcomes!" 

It was indeed her brother, every word pointed out 
the relationship. 

Upon the road to Waldweiler, he told me what the 
girl had related to me — he had all the maiden inno- 
cence of his sister, only the fire of fame burned in his 
bosom. What people! I arrived — the girl flew to- 
wards me, as if she had known what I felt for her. 

Herr Traugott, the noblest simplest soul, possessor of 
a small property, received me as his son. The name 
Julio, has made me somewhat thoughtful, but the good 
people cannot tell themselves why he was called so — 
" Yes, that is very true," said Annette, " why is he so 
called." His name is Italian too. 

The girl made every preparation that was necessary 
for my remaining, and assured me that I must not 
think of going away for at least four weeks. 

How to tell you, that I have been living among an- 
gels in the Eden of God, in a world of innocence which 



252 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

poets only have dreamt of, but which here stands living 
before me a thousand times more lovely — how to paint 
to you the staff-trumpeter, who has formed this para- 
dise, his niece Selena, her parents, the spirit of peace, 
of the most hallowed calm, of the most simple piety, 
I know not, truly I know not ! 

But even in the very first hour I was convinced — 
aye firmly convinced that if I had the feelings of a hu- 
man being, I must either instantly go away, or remain 
for ever; — for Annette's heart became every minute 
more and more closely united to mine. I might say I 
was beloved as never man was before. 

Read this once more, my worthy friend! — Should I 
have remained? 

I remained ! I have been four weeks here — the girl's 
heart dwells in my bosom, her happiness is in my 
heart. 

My Uncle? — I think with sorrow upon him. But 
I have sworn to Heaven; I cannot do otherwise. I 
have taken the name of Ranch. 

Talk to my Uncle, but tell him, I cannot do other- 
wise, — Tell him, I swore it on the very day when I 
stood over him and saved his life at the risk of my own. 
No ! do not tell him that. I am a man and a man I 
shall remain. 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. "^53 



ANSWER TO THE ABOVE 



I have talked with your Uncle my dear George. The 
conversation turned upon matrimonial misalliances — 
" Upon marriage," said he, with animation, " God — 
nature — the heart, — love — all that is holy in life should 
sit in judgment, not the Herald College or the Her- 
ald King at arms." 

" But if yournephew, Colonel — your dear George?'' 

"Dear Doctor do not take amiss what is so strangely 

asked ; George seldom consults any one in such matters, 

except God and his own conscience, and in this matter 

he should not know that he has an Uncle in the world." 

" If he takes you at your word Colonel." 

" Bah ! I am none of your double-tongued ones — 

Bah!" 

" He takes you at your word then Colonel," said I, 
with seriousness. 

He looked at me seriously also, and said: " How?" 

" He takes you at your word," reiterated I — " He 

loves a worthy, innocent, affectionate girl — the daughter 

of a respectable farmer." He knit his brow. " Then," said 

he, " my word has been given and cannot be retracted, 



£54 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

but my property belongs to a man who with wife and 
child is my equal." " Are you alone the Judge in this 
matter, or God and Nature also ?" 

" Aye, Aye," write him this. A wife such as you 
mention, a worthy, innocent, affectionate woman must 
be purchased with considerable sacrifices. Write that 
to him." 

" Dare he not waver if I write him that, for he is 
still your affectionate nephew George?" 

" Think you he might waver Doctor ?" 

" If he could waver, it would be love towards his 
uncle that would make him do so." 

" Have you letters — but I must not see them at pre- 
sent, I might do him injustice. In a better hour you 
shall show them to me." 

The worthy' noble minded man ! Is he not so?, 

I add not a word, for your Uncle is in the right. It 
rests with God and your own conscience, young 
man! 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 25." 

LETTER 

FROM LAURA LUSINI TO MATILDA. 



I have seen all the three Von Plantaus here. Is it 
chance — or has heaven appointed me as its goddess of 
revenge upon this family? Me who bore nothing in 
my heart save love — No! I am not so terrible as 
thou thinkest me. — But was there ever a woman so 
betrayed as I. Answerest thou with thy cold reason. 
— Oh all ye holy protectors of love — of fidelity — of 
happiness!' — Thinkest thou I can forget the moment 
when he walked with the proud Roman maid under 
the orange shades of Tivoli — when I, infatuated by 
love's wild passion, threw myself at his feet — I, the 
proud Lusini — the idolized maid — and confessed my 
warm affection ere he had acknowledged his? Oh! 
when he swore — yea, what was there sacred in nature 
that he did not call upon as the witnesses of his eternal 
fidelity? When he knelt before me, and from his 
flaming eye the tears of passion— but wherefore draw 
this picture which so painfully tears my inmost soul, 
since it was but a picture. When I, laden with the 



256 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

rich jewels of my mother, quitted the house of my 
worthy aunt — my fair native land, Rome; and in the 
disguise of a boy, because he wished it, threw my arms 
around his neck and exclaimed : " Now I have aban- 
doned all that was mine, and have now only thee Plan- 
tau — thou art now my world — my protecting angel — 
my father-land — oh forget it not, Plantau!" 

I fled with him into his rude native country. " I 
can love you so, Plantau," said I, smiling, "Oh mayest 
thou never discover how I can hate, if thou ever leavest 
me." — And yet — 

I had not the slightest suspicion, when he explained 
to me weeping, that the severity of his father made it 
then impossible for him to give me his hand. I laughed 
him out of it — for I had his heart. 

A year had scarcely passed — alas ! in my heart there 
still trembled the remembrance of love's first kiss — ere 
gloomy clouds hung upon his brow. He took a journey 
with me to Verona, as he said — the deceiver ! to show 
me my native land from a distance. One morning I 
awoke, and he was gone ! A letter in his hand, ac- 
quainted me that his father had discovered our love — 
that I was no longer secure in Germany, that the will 
of his father and of his Prince, — the wretch ! forced 
him to break our connexion. 

Heavens! Oh heavens! I called upon all the pure 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 25? 

spirits of heaven, all the dark powers of hell to avenge 
me! Like a maniac, — like a fury I pursued him, de- 
termined on every thing that the frightful spirit of re- 
venge could suggest. Sickness detained me on the 
way, — I arrived and found him married. Oh that mo- 
ment — Alas! alas! 

In disguise I saw his wife, a spiritless being ; but the 
heiress of* an ancient name and of an immense fortune. 
For this was sacrificed a loving heart — fidelity — a Lu- 
sini. 

I saw him.-— Oh ye spirits of revenge ! he expended 
upon the proud cold woman all the love that was due 
to me. 

She gave him a son and I had my revenge. " No!" 
cried I, " this union which consummated a hellish crime 
shall not bear thee fruit." I resolved to take the boy. 
I sought out a solitary place wherein I might more 
surely conceal myself with my prize. I found it here, 
in the mountains near Heidelberg — a half fallen castle 
placed among rocks and cliffs, in the bosom of a wood, 
trod by no human foot, for fear of spirits which were 
said to haunt the ruin. 

I ordered my faithful Louis to purchase in his own 

name, the castle and the wood. — The proprietor of the 

castle did not live far distant. Louis bought furniture 

in Heidelberg for two apartments — In the course of 
Kk 



258 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

a few nights he opened a road through the wood into 
the castle, in a such a manner that no one could suppose 
a person resided there. — The hidden solitude, — even the 
story of the spirit accorded well with my melancholy 
mood. In a dark night I took possession of it. 

When all was fully arranged I flew upon wings to 
the city where he lived. The robbery of the boy was 
easy, and I carried him into my solitary habitation. 
Louis brought every night from Heidelberg what I and 
my faithful maid-servant required. Oh Matilda, the 
hatred with which I at first looked upon the innocent 
child was soon changed into love — into pure maternal 
love. 

We were more secure than ever. — I had been seen 
sometimes sitting at midnight under a stone cross which 
pointed out the place where a murder had been com- 
mitted. This place had been the favorite resort of 
melancholy maids. — Every one however now fled the 
spot. It was there that a desire for my own lovely 
native land was again awakened in my bosom. Alas ! 
Yet once more — yet once more, I wished to be in Ti- 
voli — where he the deceiver — the villain 

My people were long weary of the solitude — they 
beseeched me to go to Italy. 

" And where can I leave the child?" 

Louis spoke in praises of a man, whose house I 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 259 

could see before me. " In his hands," said he, " will 
the boy be better brought up than in yours, Signora — 
tears and melancholy are not well fitted for a boy !" 
That decided me. 

Louis slipt cautiously around the house; and one 
night came to me in great haste. I took the boy in 
my arms. The man he spoke of came to the edge of 
the forest — I stept forward — gave him the child — and 
that very night we left the castle. 

My road led me through the capital where the man 
lived who had annihilated my life. — And heavens! his 
wife had just died of her second child. He himself 
had been thrown in the chase, and lay at the point of 
death. I learnt this intelligence at the Inn. All was 
forgotten, Matilda. I flew as I was, to his house — 
caused myself to be announced, and with tottering 
steps passed the threshold of his chamber. 

" Oh Laura! Laura!" cried he, stretching out both 
hands to me ; " let me but hear again a tone out of the 
period of my happiness." 

" Julio !" cried I, kneeling by his bedside, and press- 
ing my lips to his icy hand. 

The whole gloomy past disappeared like an evil 
dream. " Oh dost thou still know me Laura?" 6aid 
he. " Dost thou still know me Julio?" said I. 

u Alas ! Laura, all that for which I gave up you, the 



260 THE HAUNTED CASTLE, 

happiness of my life is gone. — I leave every things- 
every thing to my brother, — he — it was he alas! who 
broke the bonds of our love! He ! And now my 

daughter !" 

" What dost thou fear Julio ?" said I. 
He stared at me, sighed, and was silent. — Then he 
exclaimed, " I had a son !" 

" He lives !" cried I with energy. — " Thou shalt see 
him." — I explained all to him. 

He drew his hands from mine, clasped them together, 
and said slowly. " It is all well Laura! leave him 
where he is! oh leave him where he is! For my bro- 
ther — thou knowest not." — 

He made me give him paper; he wrote, that I, with 
his consent, had given his son for education to Herr 
Traugott Lehman, in Waldweiler, and that Colonel 
Von Stein, his brother-in-law would recognize his son 
by an infallible token, he subscribed, sealed, and gave 
me the paper. His brother became, much to his sor- 
row, the guardian of his daughter; but he had fixed 
that she should be brought up in the house of the 
Colonel. 

Oh Matilda, he died in my arms. 
I returned to Italy with an enduring sorrow in my 
heart ; alas ! I felt I hadlost all — my aunt was dead 
also. 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 261 

My faithful Louis had remained in Germany, and 
had purchased a small house in Waldweiler. I re- 
ceived from him the hest news of my Julio. But yet 
I was terrified when Louis at length wrote to me, that 
Julio was in love with the pheasant-inspector's daugh- 
ter. He painted to me the girl as a perfect angel. 

I went instantly to Germany, visited the grave of the 
man whom I never could forget, saw his daughter who 
lived with the Colonel — a trait of soft melancholy hung 
over her lovely blue eye, and recognized among the 
Colonel's servants, the old attendant of my beloved, 
who knew all his master's secrets, and our connexion 
also. 

I addressed him, and asked him to speak with me. 

" Alas, Signora!" said he, " the happy times are 
past, my master is dead, — his son is disappeared — his 
daughter." 

" What is the matter with her, William ?" 

He attempted to restrain his tongue, but at length 
he said with a deep sigh, " the poor girl is in love, and 
loves with ardour a worthy young man, who is desti- 
tute of nothing but money," 

" Thy mistress is rich enough already." 

" So much the worse," replied he, " so much the 
worse, for her guardian, the brother of my sainted mas- 
ter, threatens that she shall give her hand to his son. 
and he—" 



262 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

« Well, and he?" 

" Alas ! we servants know often more than what is 
right. In short, the young man is, I believe, a villain!" 

He then acquainted me with traits of his charac- 
ter, which left no doubt of the truth of his assertion. 

" But the Colonel?" rejoined I. 

" Oh worthy man, Signora! He had destined his 
nephew for this lady, he also is a von Plantau, of the 
name of George." 

« Well and he?" 

" The Colonel trusts much to him, a wonderful fellow 
who flies up and down the world, accompanied by two 
large English dogs, a gun slung across his shoulder, 
and dressed in a green jacket, as if he were the wild 
huntsman of the forest. The other Plantau is after 
the lady's fortune. You see how my master's house is 
falling, — heaven punishes sooner or later!" 

I obtained from the old man the most minute parti- 
culars, and set off. I went through a small town, 
where the future betrothed of the young lady was re- 
siding. I saw the young man, a tall noble figure, a 
fine face, a face indeed that had a considerable resem- 
blance to that of my beloved ; but in his eye there lay 
a trait of falsehood, which beamed almost as if in 
triumph. His character was talked of in the place with 
frightful shakings of the head. 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 263 

I was now acquainted with the whole family, and 
their secrets, and thus I arrived at Heidelberg. 

Louis came, talked of Julio with great delight, — of 
his love for the maid, almost as passionately as if he 
himself had been the lover. " The girl is called Se- 
lena !" Louis had become acquainted with the young 
people, and through them with the old people also. 
He could not find words to extol their individual 
worth. 

" And the parents of the maid, do they approve of 
the young pair's affection ?" said I. 

Louis knit his brow. " In the first place," said he, 
" between the young people there has been no open 
declaration. They love each other, Signora, even more 
warmly I might say, than you once did Von Plantau; 
but they know it not. It is really the case, although 
you may laugh at it. But you must see the pair and 
hear them speak. In the second place, there has ap- 
peared a young gentleman of the name of Hunold, 
handsomely dressed, and possessing elegant manners, 
such as are only to be acquired in good society — a man 
who is constantly talking of virtue, which seems to me 
to be a little suspicious. The staff-trumpeter too can- 
not bear him, and this man, Signora, whom even a 
child can deceive, sees deep into the soul. Selena's 
mother suffers him somewhat better, because he has a 



264 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

fine property — has a carriage and horses every time he 
comes, brings along with him always some fashionable 
dress for Selena, or herself, and talks of large sums of 
money." 

" Poor Julio." 

" Aye, the poor young man has nothing, not even a 
name, and if Traugott dies, or — there the mother is in 
the right too not to give her consent. The staff-trum- 
peter remains mournfully silent. Julio observes no- 
thing. Selena but little. Love will break forth, and 
then — but there is still another young man here, who 
loves Annette, a hunter, a strange fellow, accompanied 
by two English dogs," 

" Is he too a Seducer?" 

" By no means, for wooden leg is security for his 
honour." 

" And what is his name, if he is no deceiver?" 

" Rauch!" 

Matilda — I went the same evening into the Castle 
which Louis had prepared for me. On the following 
morning I stood behind an aged oak-tree with my tele- 
scope, Louis near me, and turned it upon Traugott's 
house door. 

" That is Julio, Signora," said Louis. 

It was he, oh it was he, the true picture, the very 
image of my Julio, whose name he bears. Then An- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 265 

nette stept forward. Oh Louis was right— the angel of 
innocence. Julio was a tall strong young man about 
twenty years of age. He ! alas ! I must not revert to 
him again — away with those fail* pictures that are now 
gone for ever. Now came Herr Rauch exactly as 
William had described him — he was the Colonel's ne- 
phew — a von Plantau, and a seducer. He with the 
noble features of his uncle the Colonel? " Oh Louis," 
exclaimed I — "he a seducer?" 

" He is not, Signora, but the other, — there he comes 
Selena." 

1 turned the glass upon him and was confounded. 
Matilda, it was the betrothed of Julio's daughter. 

I have seen the three Von Plantaus, two of them 
are certainly deceivers, and the third the betrayed? No! 
No! Julio! 

My plan is not yet matured. But I know I must 
either enter among these families as a guardian angel 
or as an avenger. What is the part that Fate has des- 
tined for me? Thou shalt know now, Farewell! 

It was a most critical time that Laura Lusini inter- 
posed. Plantau had in the mother of Selena such a 
powerful supporter to his love, that he verily believed 
he held the fair booty in his hand. He had to be sure 
never plainly spoken of a marriage with Selena, but he 

joked about it continually. The staff-trumpeter took 
L 1 



266 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

Julio's part with zeal. The mother then cried: " Shall 
Selena become the wife of a man who is a beggar when 
Traugott dies ? Tell me that brother ?" 

What could he say? 

He went to Traugott and spoke about Julio's future 
prospects. Traugott knit his brow. " I have brought 
him up," said he, " but what I have belongs to my sis- 
ter, provided I do not marry, which as yet I have not 
forsworn. 

The trumpeter grew pale, and Traugott repeated still 
more decidedly, that Julio must not reckon upon him. 
" For could I be justified before God if I did otherwise?" 
Speak! The trumpeter threw a sorrowful look to Hea- 
ven, for Traugott was right. 

Returning home he met Julio. " Poor Youth!" was 
all he during a sorrowful embrace could utter. 

" I know what goes on" said the young man, "This 
Hunold — and Selena!" 

" Thou hast lost her!" said the trumpeter. He ex- 
plained. Then flowed the first tears in this paradise. 

Julio flew to Selena, then to Annette, every eye was 
wet. Julio and Annette went to Traugott, and here 
the last destroying flash of lightning fell from heaven. 
Julio discovered that he was not Traugott's brother, 
that the Castle-spirit — or the devil knows who — Alas 
Julio! 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. %&l 

Laura learnt every thing from Louis. 
The whole neighbourhood was full of frightful tales 
of the Castle-spirit — the herd-boys had seen lights — 
had heard music, — had observed a white figure at the 
cross. 

The mother pressed at last for an explanation from 
Hunold. He wrote to Selena and offered her/his hand. 
Selena read it with sobs, gave the letter to Annette, 
and Annette gave it to Julio. The young man in des- 
pair ran late in the evening to the cross. He heard a 
beautiful voice singing a tender song, he saw a white 
figure, and the figure beckoned him, — he approached 
slowly. 
" Thou lovest Selena, young man ?" 
" More than my life." 
" Take courage! what is that paper ?" 
M Hunold's request for Selena's hand." 
" Give me it and take that. Go ! Go I" 
At that moment a lovely chord sounded as if from 
heaven, and when Julio turned round again, the figure 
had disappeared. He ran home, darted into the room, 
crying, " I have seen her!" He approached the win- 
dow, and read audibly " Thou art not called Hunold ! 
Deceiver! Thou art Freiherr von Plantaufrom Gross- 
bruck. Wouldst thou seduce the innocent? Her 
guardian angel watches, — Go, — Fly and repent !" 



268 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

" God be praised !" cried Julio, holding the paper 
high in the air. 

" Who gave you that?" 

Julio explained. George looked at every one with 
astonishment but was silent. On the following mor- 
ning he went with the paper to Goldmann's. Traugott 
shaking his head went along with him. He gave the 
paper in presence of the family to the Freiherr. He 
read it and grew deadly pale. " Who wrote this?" 
cried he haughtily. 

" It booteth not, Sir, you have only to explain 
whether you are the Freiherr Von Plantau or not?" 

" Who calls me to account?" 

" Every one who has an innocent daughter or sister, 
Herr Baron." He gave the mother the letter, she 
read it, and looked for the Freiherr's explanation, 
but he seized his hat with a proud contemptuous smile, 
bowed and departed. George stamped with rage that 
he was obliged to let him go thus. He enquired now 
after the Castle-spirit, and the incredible occurrences of 
thirty years were related to him. George said noth- 
ing but went away. The trumpeter sought his Julio, 
whose prospects in the eye of the mother, were much 
bettered by the support of the Castle-spirit. 

George went directly past the Cross into the wood, 
all was silent around him. He slackened his pace as he 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 269 

approached the ruins, terror began to steal over him. 
He entered the Castle, went into a vaulted passage at 
the farther end of which stood immoveable, a tall fig- 
ure veiled in white. He stopt a moment and then pro- 
ceeded, the figiu-e approached to meet him, a beautiful — 
a noble woman. " Madam," said he, most respect- 
fully, " you have this day saved the hopes of an inno- 
cent pair." 

"Have I? Dost thou know it of a certainty. Canst 
thou comprehend the course of fate? The virtue of a 
man is so deceitful; bis virtues are all at best, but 
good designs formed in a too inspired, or a too placid 
moment!" 

" Madam, though I tremble here, yet I believe in 
no other but invisible spirits — you may perhaps have 
a noble object in playing the spectre here, and if you 
have aught to do with me, then tell me who I am." 

The lady proudly answered, " This paper send to 
Colonel Stein, it will save thy uncle's daughter, Cecilia!" 

At this, George turning deadly pale started back, 
for he knew well that he had not passed by his own 
name for five years. He threw his eyes upon the 
ground, and his trembling hand took the sealed paper. 
The figure turned round and disappeared in an adjoin- 
ing hall. When in the court-yard he fain would have 
returned, but one shudder after another compelled him 



270 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

to depart. George that very day declared his love to 
Annette, and pled warmly with Traugott for her hand. 
He mentioned his real name, and said, " I can offer 
your sister nothing except love, a pure life, and a proper- 
ty which is not more valuable than your own." — Trau- 
gott consented. They all went over to Goldmann's 
except Julio, to declare their happiness. Annette fell 
upon the neck of Selena's mother, and begged for poor 
Julio — the mother sighed — George however explained 
that the spirit was a noble lady, and that Julio's desti- 
ny would certainly be happily unravelled. The mother 
then consented. The trumpeter took his trumpet, 
opened the window, and blew a call — Julio heard it, 
ran in, Selena lay in his arms, and the first kiss of the 
bride trembled upon his dumb-struck lips. 

The marriage day was fixed to be in four weeks. 
George wrote to the doctor, and received the day be- 
fore the marriage this short epistle from his uncle: 

" One's word once given cannot be retracted ! It 
rests with God and your own conscience George! 
The doctor has written to you my determination.— I 
still abide by it ! Cecilia is not to be saved, although 
the letter of the bridegroom has given its dumb evi- 
dence. He has explained all his conduct with Selena 
as a mere joke, and his father asserts that he knew it 
o be such. The poor girl loves, but she loves a noble- 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 271 

man, an excellent young man! Poor child! — But the 
father is her guardian, and she the richest of heiresses." 

George rushed with the letter into the wood, and 
stormed at the doors till he found the Castle spirit. 

" Spirit or human being!" said he " read ! and if you 
can save her, do it!" 

u God be praised!" cried she, clasping her hands 
with human warmth. " God be praised ! I can save 
her. The day after the marriage I shall set off with 
the young pairs. Have two carriages ready from 
Heidelberg." 

The marriage day arrived, and on the morning after, 
the Castle spirit appeared gravely, but softly smiling, 
with her attendant before Traugott's door. 

" I am an unfortunate lady," said she, " but you 
shall love me. — Make haste !" They travelled day and 
night, and in two days they arrived before the Colonel's 
door. The house was brilliantly illuminated, Cecilia's 
betrothed was there, his father, and the pale trembling 
girl. 

" What is this?" demanded the Colonel, and recog- 
nized his nephew George. 

" We remain by our determination !" said Von Stein. 

" Be it so! dearest Colonel! but the blessing of the 
worthiest of men,, my wife must not be deprived of." 

" Then, young man, there it is! my best blessing, and 



272 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

from the heart!" He looked at her and kissed her. 
" Who are the others George?" 

" Have you never heard of the name Lusini, Colo- 
nel?" said Laura, proudly approaching; "I think you 
were her friend." 

" Laura Lusini?" continued the Colonel much affect- 
ed, " If you are she, then have I to give you the last 
blessing of the most wretched of men. Alas ! we all 
broke thy heart. Dearest Laura, — he is dead !" 

" Upon my lips he breathed his last sigh, and in this 
paper I bring you his will," said Laura. 

" I am Cecilia's guardian. If there is any thing to 
be said about that" said the Freiherr in a command- 
ing voice. " With respect to Cecilia's hand," cried 
Laura, " One here present has a right to be consulted, 
Freiherr ! The son of your brother Baron Gustavus 
Von Plantau." Thus saying, she led forward the 
young man. 

" Some new fairy tale, doubtless," said the Frei- 
herr. 

" He is so !" cried the Colonel warmly, " place only 
his sister next him, put him in her dress, and you 
would say at once it is Cecilia !" 

" I believe it not," cried the Baron. " I require 
evidence." 

" Here is an acknowledgement of his father!" Laura 



THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 273 

gave the letter of Julio to the Colonel The Colonel 
read it out. 

" Where then is the infallible token whereby he is 
to be known ?" 

" It is a mark in the form of a cherry, bearing a 
wonderful resemblance to a cherry, upon his left 
breast," said the Colonel, tearing open the young man's 
shirt, — " and here it is," pressing his lips upon the 
mark. 

The Baron still found difficulties, but Laura said, 
with dignity, " Baron, I or my servants have not for 
one instant lost sight of your nephew, till I placed him 
in the arms of Herr Lehman. — A judge even will re- 
quire nothing more than Cecilia's face, and his father's 
portrait. Shall we bring the matter to trial ?" 

" No, no! but then poor Cecilia! Your brother 
from the richest of heiresses makes you a beggar. — 
And if Cecilia is opposed to the connexion with my 
son, then I consider it the best way to — " 

" Amen!" cried the Colonel, laughing; "and then 
may the beggar marry a beggar — What do you think 
my little darling?"— She sank at his feet. 

" The Freiherr and his son went away, — " a happy 

journey to you knaves !" cried the Colonel. Now every 

thing was explained, and to the inexpressible joy of 

Cecilia, her lover was sent for. The good old man 

M m 



274 THE HAUNTED CASTLE. 

started however, when he heard that Selena was the 
young Baron's wife, but forgot it again in the joy that 
succeeded. — He embraced Selena, then Annette, di- 
vided his property betwixt Cecilia and George, pressed 
each to his bosom, and declared, " that marriage belongs 
to God and one's own heart!" 

After a few days they all travelled back in com- 
pany with the Colonel to Waldweiler. The staff-trum- 
peter's habits of subordination made him feel embar- 
rassed before the Colonel, but they soon became ac- 
quainted — the two worthy souls ! 

After a lapse of fourteen days the Colonel exclaimed, 
" by heavens this is paradise or it is no where!" 



WOLDEMAR; 



A STORY 



FROM THE ITALIAN CAMPAIGN OF 1805. 



THEODORE CHARLES KORNER, 



Their swords are red from the fight. — 

My brother ! why hast thou slain my Salgar? 

Oh Salgar ! why hast thou slain my brother ? 



Ossian. 



WOLDEMAR, 



WOLDEMAR TO HIS FRIEND GUSTAVUS. 



M a, llth July, 1805. 

We are still my dear Gustavus lying quietly in front 
of the enemy. I cannot conceive the reason of this 
eternal fear. The whole army thirst for battle, and 
join. me in deprecating this burdensome repose; it un- 
bends the mind, and renders it unfit for action. To 
all appearances, however, we shall still remain some 
time in this situation; and our ardent hopes, soon to 
engage the French, seem likely to continue long uure= 
alized. To-morrow morning, I advance with my divi= 
sion two hour's march towards Villarosa. Every one 
envies me for this change, for Villarosa must be a de> 



278 WOLDEMAK, 

lightful residence. It belongs to Count P , who 

possesses a considerable estate in the Tyrol, where you 
must surely have heard of him. He lives here in the 
enjoyment of nature and of his family, who, as well as 
himself are commended by every one. It is not to be 
denied, that one first learns, in these unceremonious 
visits of war, to value aright the happiness of meeting 
with educated men; yet such occurrences are so tran- 
sient, I would rather be called to the field of battle to- 
morrow, than live any longer in this insupportable 
quiet. 

That I must thus set foot upon the land which has 
ever been the limit of my waking dreams, that I must 
help with rude and bloody hands to chase away all 
peaceful joys from this hallowed soil, pains me most 
deeply. I had hoped to have crossed its frontiers in 
other circumstances. But I am now a soldier — a sol- 
dier from choice — from love and thirst of battle ; and 
such feelings suit not this sky, nor accord with this 
land, where all, even in spite of the agitations of the 
times, is teeming with luxurious abundance. — Oh! 
that thou couldst behold fair, glorious Italy, how it 
shines and blossoms. Who would wish to enter it at 
the head of a conquering army ? 



WOLDEMAR. 279 

Villarosa, 2lst July> 1805. 
I write you from Villarosa, from this paradise of na- 
ture. My dear friend, envy me, envy me for every 
hour I am allowed to pass here. What a circle of ami- 
able beings. Thou wouldest see Magdalena, her tall 
and noble form, her large black eyes, and luxuriant 
golden locks ; thou wouldst hear the harmony of her 
voice, those tones of angelic life; and then thou mightest 
forget, like myself, war and war's alarms. A calm 
melancholy, the tender trace of some deep sorrow, 
which like a mellowed sunbeam, floats around the mild 
features of the lovely girl, combined with the expres- 
sion of the greatest tenderness beaming from her eyes, 
gives to her something inexpressibly — infinitely charm- 
ing. But what is heavenly cannot be described; I 
cannot name to you all the feelings which in sweet in- 
toxication seize on my already overflowing heart. But 
1 perceive I have yet written nothing for your infor- 
mation; you must know then, that Magdalena is the 

daughter of Count P -, to whom Villarosa belongs; 

here I met with such a reception, — the oldest friend could 
not have desired a better, so much cordiality and kind- 
ness; I can scarcely imagine my own good fortune. I ■ 
now live under the same roof with her; I am almost al- 
ways in her society. I accompany her on the guitar. 



280 WOLDEMAR, 

when she sings her national canzonetts, those sweet songs 
of love and sadness. She conducts me around the splen- 
did environs of the villa, and participates most warmly 
in the delights I experience in this earthly paradise. 
Oh ! She is an angel, a heing full of elevated tender- 
ness. How I feel every impulse of my soul changed, 
I feel myself better, because her presence ennobles me. 
I feel myself blest, for I can still behold her. — Happy 
man that I am. 



Villarosa, 23d July. 

God be praised! nothing hostile is yet heard. I am 
hopeful the armies may still for some weeks remain 
quietly opposed to each other, and I may not be obliged 
to leave this heaven. Never could I have believed that 
love could have so completely changed me! Formerly 
an ardent everlasting desire impelled me forth into the 
misty distance. All my joys lay in futurity, and life 
passed before me shapeless and obscure. But now my 
whole energies are employed. In her holy presence 
the wild storm of the soul is softened down to sweetest 
sadness, — she imparts to me all her joys ; and stirred 
by the breath of love, the strings of a more exalted life 
sound deeply within me. With how much kindness 



WOLDEMAK. 281 

they treat me. No one lets me feel hew unpleasant, 
how burdensome I must necessarily be in my present 
situation. What noble beings they are ! The father, 
with a look calm amid the agitations of the period, with 
a figure noble, firm, and commanding the profoun- 
dest respect. The Mother who lives only in the circle 
of her family, and who surrounds all with her heart-felt 
tenderest affection. Ah! and Magdalena, Magdalena! 
he has never felt what is holy and heavenly in life, who 
has not seen in her angelic eye, the glow of a nobler 
perfection, — who has not bent his knee in adoration be- 
fore this emblem of purity. 



Villarosa, 25th July. 

She has a brother, whom she loves with no ordinary 
affection: he has lately quitted his home on account of 
a duel; and they know not the situation of his present 
retreat. This is the occasion of her melancholy, for 
she hangs on this brother with a love, with a tender- 
ness, which belongs altogether to her own kind heart. 
How she related it to me, with all the expression of 
inward and heart-felt sorrow, while tears flowed from 
her eyes. I cannot tell you how much this story has 
affected me. There is no circumstance in the whole of 

human life, where tenderness and greatness of soul can 
Nn 



282 WOLDEMAR. 

express themselves plainer than in affliction: and it is 
impossible to meet with any thing more moving, and 
more inspiring than tears in the lovely eyes of such a 
girl. I told her so, and she felt that I wished not 
merely to flatter her. Softly she pressed my hand, 
which, in the ecstacy of the moment, had seized her's, 
rose up quickly, and said, in hurrying away, " I be- 
lieve, Woldemar, you are an honest man!" Oh, thou 
canst not conceive the heavenly tones of these words ! 
Long I stood looking stedfastly after her, then I threw 
myself down, and kissed the grass which her light feet 
had touched. Callest thou me a child, Gustavus? 
Yes, I am indeed a child, but I am a happy one. In 
the evening I gaze from the window as long as I can 
perceive the light of her apartment, which being in the 
right, and mine in the left wing of the villa, I can eas- 
ily see. Thus I often stand for hours together, and 
gaze at the flickering of her taper, until it is extinguish- 
ed—then I seize my guitar, and my notes full of pas- 
sion resound in the clear moonlight, which under an 
Italian sky, rests like the spirit of the eternal, in god- 
like stillness upon the earth. Canst thou indeed con- 
ceive the sanctity which then floats in those full tones 
around me? Hast thou an idea in thy breast for such 
delights? Gustavus! Gustavus! they never once oc- 
curred to my imagination ! 



WOLDEMAR. 283 



Villarosa, 29th July. 

Oh ! that I cannot fly into thy arms, that I dare not 
weep from infinite delight upon thy brotherly bosom. 
Oh ! that I should bear alone this excess of burning 
joy! Alas! my poor heart cannot contain this mighty 
feeling — it must break. Gustavus, she is mine! From 
her trembling lips the confession of her love has faul- 
tered, — she has lain upon my bosom, and I have dared 
to impress burning kisses upon her lips. Silently we 
sat on the terrace, lost in the sweetest dreams. The 
sun was then sinking behind the mountains, and his 
parting rays gilded the shining arms of a band of our 
troops which was passing in the distance. Something 
spoke within me like the voice of a spirit, and said, 
" thou returnest home no more," and deep melancholy 
took possession of my soul. Magdalena soon remark- 
ed my emotion, and asked me, participating in it, what 
grieved me ? I mentioned my foreboding, and softly 
enquired if she would drop a tear upon my grave ! I 
stepped forward and seized her hand, she trembled, 
and with tears of sorrow in her eye, she gazed upon 
me. I could no longer contain myself — I threw my- 
self at her feet: — " Magdalena," cried I, " 1 can be 
silent no longer, — I love thee!" Deeply affected, she 



284 WOLDEMAtt. 

sank into my arms, and our lips sealed the holy bond. 
When, at last, we recovered from the glorious tumult 
of our souls, oh ! how I felt ! Already had the twilight 
encompassed the earth, and lulled the world into a 
sweet slumber ; but in my bosom there glowed an eter- 
nal day, the morning of my happiness had dawned. 
Ah, how different too was now my Magdalena; she 
stood like a translated soul before me, — the spirit of a 
more exalted existence floated around her,— the expres- 
sion of prosperous love shone about her countenance like 
the areola of a saint. Formerly, she appeared to me as 
the emblem of virgin perfection, now, she stands be- 
fore me like the seraph of a better world, — her girlish 
timidity is changed by the consciousness of everlasting 
love, to a holy confidence in the energies of her own 
mind. 

As yet I have not spoken to her parents ; but I hope 
they will not impede our happiness — they hang upon 
Magdalena with such tenderness, that they will not 
trouble the source of their own felicity. Gustavus, if 
thou hast as yet never experienced that blessed moment 
in which love hurries on two hearts to a burning ex- 
stacy, and steeps them in the greatest of earthly bliss ; 
if these heavenly words, " I love thee," have never 
sounded in thy ear, from well loved lips, then indeed, 
thou canst not conceive the infinite power of that feel- 
ing, — the heaven -born ecstacy of requited affection ! 



WOLDEMAR. 285 



Villa rosa, 1st August. 

Partake of my happiness, my dear Gustavus! She 
is mine, — mine by the voice of her own heart, — mine 
by the promise of her parents, — noble, honourable be- 
ings! They object not to me; they receive me, a 
stranger, into the happy circle of their affection. Does 
not every thing unite to fulfil my fondest wishes, even 
before I venture to express them? Does not every 
thing aid in the most friendly manner, even in this 
stormy period, to lay the foundation of everlasting peace 
in my bosom ? 

I have made known to them all my circumstances ; 
how I joined this campaign, merely from the restless 
love of a military life; that I would, after its close, take 
leave of the army, — sell my property in Bohemia, and 
return to my dear-loved Italy, to live only for Mag- 
dalena, and the pleasing duties of domestic love; — I 
told them every thing, and they felt that I would not 
at least make Magdalena unhappy. But as I could not 
count on a much longer residence, expecting every mo- 
ment orders for the commencement of hostilities, they 
gave us at last their blessing, and the greatest felicity 
burned in the bosoms of four happy beings. 

Gustavus, when the father presented to me Magda- 



286 



WOLDEMAR. 



lena, when he said, " Take her, the joy of my life, 
and make her happy;" — when she sank in my arms, 
and the kiss imprinted in the hallowed presence of her 
parents, to seal the happy bond, glowed on our lips, then 
I experienced the greatest — the most boundless joy, — 
all the angels of heaven descended into my soul, and 
created an enchanted Eden within me ! — In glowing 
ecstacy I revelled in the fulfilment of my ideal happi- 
ness, which now bloomed in fair reality within the cir- 
cle of my own existence. Gustavus, I am not fitted 
for this blessedness ! 



Villarosa, 3d August. 

My friend, what days of paradise do I pass at present 
in the circle of my affection ! Father and mother try 
every means to testify their affection and love to their 
new son ; and Magdalena lives but for me. We are 
the whole day together, and I behold my sweet girl 
unfolding more and more the charms of her good and 
noble soul. Of her music I have already written — it 
affords her great delight, and the more so when she 
thinks how much more perfect our little concerts will 
be on the return of her brother. " Camillo, she says, 
" will sing a good powerful tenor, and we shall then 



WOLDEMAR. 287 

be able to have many a terzetto." I am quite curious 
about my brother-in-law. They are all so much at- 
tached to him, that each is affected when his absence 
is thought of; and that is scarcely ever to be avoided, 
because he is associated in their minds with every thing 
around, and in every situation he is missed. They are 
all too desirous to speak of Camillo, he must be truly 
amiable. I think of him always as a brave young man, 
full of spirit, resolution, and firmness, strong in body 
and in mind — a proud young Hercules. 

Besides singing and playing, Magdalena also draws 
elegantly; she takes great pleasure in designing sket- 
ches of historical subjects, and she has thereby already 
attained a very pleasing facility in the mechanical part 
of the art. Within these few days she has delineated 
the scene where Horatia beholds her brother the con- 
queror, as well as the murderer of her lover. In the 
expression of the maiden's face, where the combat of in- 
ternal feeling so plainly speaks out, she has completely 
and nobly succeeded. The drawing affected me much, 
and the simple forms have produced in me a very deep 
impression. Oh that thou couldst have heard her, when 
she delivered her sentiments so elegantly on the sketch, 
while she imagined herself with such felicity in the si- 
tuation of Horatia. She complained not against the 
murderer of her husband, — she complained against re- 



t 

398 WOLDEMAR. 

lentless fate; since her brother must fight like a Ro- 
man. — It was not Horatiu3 but Rome that planted the 
sword in her beloved's bosom. At present, Magdalena 
is engaged with a portrait of her brother from recollec- 
tion. The old people say it will be extremely like, 
she bears the resemblance of him so distinctly in her 
mind. I am not to be allowed to see it till it is finish- 
ed. Gustavus, what an everlasting train of delightful, 
heavenly joys, and feasts of love are reserved for my 
future life. How will my sweet beloved girl ennoble 
with her fine talents, our friendly circle. I shall spend 
days, that I would not exchange for all the treasures 
of the world. It is indeed a blessed feeling, when 
from the storms of the ocean, the ship enters with full 
sail into the safe and secure haven, — when one with 
the presentiment of the greatest earthly happiness flies 
towards the fair ruddy mom of love. Gustavus, my 
dav has dawned! 



Villarosa> kth August 

What I so long feared, has at last happened. I must 
depart, I must leave my sweet Magdalena. Early to- 
day I received orders to move to-morrow morning at 
day break, two hour's march to the rear : the enemy 



■ WOLDEMAR. 289 

approach, and we apparently wish to wait for them in 
the most advantageous position upon the heights of 

C . Oh! the whole war, on which I once hung 

with such ecstacy, is now to me quite insupportable. 
The thought that I must lose my Magdalena makes 
me shudder through my inmost soul, and a gloomy 
presentiment floats through my dreams. If it were 
only to advance — but to retire, knowing that Villarosa 
and all that is dear to me on earth, is in the enemy's 
power — it will make me mad. I am none of those 
stout souls that can bear every thing. I can venture 
all, but I possess not the patience to attain my object 
through suffering ! How hateful will each moment be 
that deprives me of the sight of my dear, my tender 
girl, that prevents me pressing her to my agitated bo- 
som. Alas! I am no longer the old Woldemar. I 
scarcely feel within me sufficient courage to bear the 
pangs of parting. Before this feeling, the proud con- 
sciousness of manliness is prostrated. 



Riccardino, 1th August. 
Oh ! Let me pass over, Gustavus, the hour of separa- 
tion, — let me not speak of Magdalena's tears, — of my 
own sorrow — her last kisses. I followed my orders, 
and have been for these three days in Riccardino. It 

Oo 



290 WOLDEMAR. •» 

p 
has proved some consolation to me, that I can see from 

the window of my new quarters, Villarosa, where my 
beloved dwells. Over this window I lie incessantly, 
and look towards it, — the continued longing might 
almost burst my heart! Every thing is so lonely — so 
empty around me; even the loud tumult of war, (for 
with us all is motion, and several regiments are here to- 
gether), attracts not my observation. At present I have 
only one feeling but yet a burning powerful one, which 
could courageously break through every bond. Mag- 
dalena, how boundless is my affection. I cannot con- 
ceive how I could live without thee. 

Two Hours later. 

Gustavus, something rages frightfully within me — 
my dark foreboding approaches its fulfilment ! The 
General has ordered us to assemble, and called for vo- 
lunteers for the storm of Villarosa. The enemy have 
taken possession of it and appear to wish to fortify 
themselves on the heights. That I was the first to of- 
fer myself, thou canst well imagine. I shall deliver my 
Magdalena from the power of the enemy, what a god- 
like feeling for me ! but I shall leave upon those peace- 
ful banks many a corpse, 'and shall help to destroy that 
delightful little world, upon which she rests with such 
heart-felt affection. Can I do so? — Dare I do it?— O 



WOLDEMAR. 291 

combat of duty! Yet happen what may, I must join 
the enterprise. I shall be the more ready to give assis- 
tance. — We shall have sharp work. The enemy is by 
no means insignificant in numbers, and my band is 
small, because the brave are required every where, and 
the general can only spare a few, for he hourly expects 
events of greater consequence. May Heaven preserve 
me ! Duty and love call upon me, — bloodily must I 
purchase my happiness. 



Thus far are the letters of Woldemar. In a most 
frightful frame of mind he sallied forth, with his brave 
troops towards Villarosa. Already from afar they be- 
held the enemy's posts, and even before Woldemar, as 
was his plan, could approach, by well known ways, 
through the cypress grove to the neighbourhood of the 
Castle, the enemy's corps, who had already perceived 
him approaching, or had received information of his de- 
sign boldly advanced to meet him. The fight began, 
and soon it came to close combat ; for Woldemar's 
troops, as they knew they had to conquer back their 
leader s bride, rushed fearlessly on the foe. Most furi- 
ously fought the French officer, a young man of tall and 
noble form ; frequently he and Woldemar met each 
other in the battle, but always were they again separa- 



292 WOLDEMAR. 

ted ; at last the enemy could no longer withstand the 
impetuous charges of the brave soldiers, they retreat- 
ed into the Castle, and the officer defended the en- 
trance with raging despair, as if it had contained the 
best portion of his life. At length Woldemar fell upon 
him with all his force, he was obliged to give way, the 
soldiers rushed into the Villa, and Woldemar followed 
his stubborn antagonist from room to room, in each of 
which a new combat commenced. Woldemar cried to 
him to surrender, but in vain; instead of yielding, he 
fought more furiously. Both were already cover- 
ed with wounds, when it appeared to Woldemar, as 
if he heard the voice of Magdalena in the neigbourhood, 
he gathered up his last force, and his opponent fell up- 
on the ground, pierced with his sword. At that mo- 
ment Magdalena with her father rushed into the apart- 
ment, and crying " my Brother, my unfortunate Bro- 
ther", — sank down upon the slain. The most frightful 
despair seized upon Woldemar ; he stood as if annihi- 
lated, overwhelmed with being a brother's murderer. 
At length Magdalena recovered by help of the atten- 
dants ; her first look fell upon Woldemar, then upon his 
bloody sword, and she sank anew, lifeless upon her bro- 
ther's corpse. She was borne away, along with her 
father, who in death-like fixedness had until now silent- 
ly followed what happened, 



WOLDEMAR, 293 

Woldemar was transfixed amid the terrible con- 
sciousness of having annihilated the happiness of the 
most noble of beings. He heard not, when the news 
were brought him, that the remainder of the enemy 
were partly slain, and partly taken prisoners; — he had 
but one overwhelming feeling, and he gave himself up 
to despair. — At length the Count appeared — he had 
collected himself, and still extended his hand to the 
murderer of his son, — Woldemar sank down at his feet 
overpowered with feeling, and covered his hands with 
tears. But the old man drew him to his breast, and 
their manly hearts broke out into most unutterable sor- 
row. When the Count had again recovered, he re- 
lated to Woldemar how his son Camillo had taken a 
commission in the French army? and had only a few 
days before joined it. He mentioned also, how Mag • 
dalena had told her beloved brother of her Wolde 
mar, and how delighted be was in the prospect of be 
coming acquainted with the friend of his sister, and of 
being able to testify his affection to him. How was 
Woldemar's bosom torn ! Furiously he raved, and the 
Count was endeavouring to take from him his sword, 
with which he wished to end his misery, when, at that 
moment both were arrested by the anxious bustle 
around them, and they foreboded some new misfortune. 
Alas! Magdalena, whose tender narves this frightful 



294 WOLDEMAR. 

scene had powerfully affected, lay in the agonies of 
death. Woldemar's despair was at its height ; he con- 
jured the Count to permit him to see her once more if 
he did not wish to make him curse himself and his 
fate ; he threw himself again at his feet, and deeply af- 
fected, the afflicted father went away, determined not to 
refuse this last favour to his unhappy friend. Magda- 
lena, whose heart still struggled betwixt love and horror, 
was with difficulty persuaded to see again the murderer 
of her brother ; but her pure soul, so near its beatification 
surmounted the earthly sorrow — love, eternal love con- 
quered! Upon this interview, a fragment of a letter to 
Gustavus was found in Woldemar's possession. It was 
this : 

" Gustavus! I am annihilated: I have destroyed the 
happiness of those angels, — the guilt of blood lies hea- 
vily upon me, and despair rages in my veins. Gusta- 
vus, curse me ! The pictures of the past frightfully 
assail me — they will make me mad; — I am already 
frantic. Yet once more I have seen her — that celes- 
tial being, whose heaven I have destroyed — yet once 
more she beheld me with all the expression of her for- 
mer affection, and softly said, " Woldemar, I forgive 
thee." I fell down at her feet while she raised herself 
with her last effort to press me to her affectionate bo- 
som, and sank dead into my arms. Gustavus ! Gusta- 



WOLDEMAR. '295 

vus ! I am hurried after her — my despair urges me on. 
She has forgiven me — the pure celestial being — but I 
forgive myself not — I must sacrifice myself; through 
blood alone, can I roll the guilt from off my heart. — 
Farewell! I dare not reckon it with my destiny. I 
have destroyed my own joys. Farewell ! thou part- 
ner soul, God is merciful, he will let me die." 

His last wish was granted. That slight skirmish 
was the forerunner of a decisive battle, for the day fol- 
lowing saw both armies in the tumult of a frightful 
conflict. Woldemar fought like a despairing man; he 
rushed deep into the enemy's lines, sought death and 
found it; pierced with innumerable bayonet wounds, 
he fell in the hottest of the fight, and his last word 
was Magdalena ! All who knew him, wept in him a 
true friend, a brave comrade, and an honourable man. 
He was placed in the family cemetry at Villarosa, next 
to his Magdalena — Peace be with their ashes ! 



THE HARP: 



A TALE 



FAVOURING A BELIEF IN SPIRITS. 



THEODORE CHARLES KORNER. 



The harp stands neglected; — she's gone, whose light fingers 

Awoke from its strings the soul-melting strain ; 
Touch — touch its still cords, — in their echo e'en lingers 

A spell that can woo back her spirit again. 
Like the harp ; sweetest spirit ! thou'st been my fond treasure, 

But like its wild notes, thou hast flitted away, 
Oh! could my sad soul like the tones of that measure, 

As softly — as sweetly to heaven die away. 

Anon, 



pp 



THE HARP. 



The secretary and his young wife had not yet passed 
the spring days of their honey-moon — no selfish motives, 
no transitory inclinations had united them ; a warm and 
long proved affection was the seal of their union. Ear- 
ly had they known each other, but Sellner's unprovided 
condition forced him to defer the accomplishment of his 
wishes. At length he received his appointment, and 
on the following Sunday he conducted home his affec- 
tionate Josephina as his wife. After the long irksome 
days of congratulation and family feasting were over, 
the young couple could at last enjoy the peaceful evening 
undisturbed by the presence of any third person. Plans 
of future life, Sellner's flute, and Josephina's harp filled 
up the hours which to them seemed to flit but too quick- 
ly away, and they hailed the deep and perfect unison 
of their tones, as a friendly presage of future days of 
happiness. One evening they had been long amusing 
themselves with their music, when Josephina began to 
complain of head-ache. She had concealed from her 
r nxious husband an attack which she had had in the 



300 THE HARP. 

morning, and what was at first a very trifling fever, had 
on account of the weakness of her nerves heen greatly 
increased by the excitement of the music, and the con- 
sequent straining of her feelings : — she concealed it no 
longer, and Sellner full of anxiety sent for a physician. 
He came, treated the matter as a trifle, and promised 
a complete recovery on the morrow. 

But after a very restless night, in which she raved 
continually, the physician found the poor Josephina 
labouring under all the symptoms of a nervous fever. 
He tried every mean, yet Josephina's disease grew 
daily worse. — Sellner was in agony. On the ninth day, 
Josephina felt that her tender nerves could no longer 
endure the disease,— the physician too had previously 
acquainted Sellner of it. She foresaw her last hour 
was at hand, and with quiet resignation she awaited 
her destiny. " My dearest Edward," said she, to her 
husband, while she pressed him for the last time to her 
bosom, " with deep sorrow I quit this world where I 
found thee, and the greatest earthly bliss upon thy bo- 
som, yet, though I must no longer he happy in thy 
arms, yet Josephina's love shall hover around thee as 
a guardian spirit until we meet again in heaven!" As 
she said this, she fell back and softly sank to rest. It 
was about nine in the evening. What Sellner suffered 
was inexpressible ; he contended long with life — sorrow 
had destroyed his health, and when after many week's 



THE HARP. 301 

confinement be again rose, he had no longer the vigour 
of youth in his limbs ; he gloomily brooded over his 
loss, and visibly pined away. Deep melancholy had 
taken the place of despair, and a still sorrow hallowed 
every recollection of his beloved. He had left Jose- 
phina's room in the same situation in which it was be- 
fore her death. Upon the table still lay the materials 
of her work; and the harp stood silent and unmoved 
in the corner. Every evening Sellner entered this 
sanctuary of his love, took his flute, and breathed in 
melancholy tones his longing after his dear loved shade. 
Once he stood thus, lost in the dreams of fancy in Jo- 
sephina's chamber. A clear moon-light nigbt wooed 
him to the open window, and from the neighbouring 
Castle-tower the watchman called the ninth hour; 
when all of a sudden, the harp, as if moved by the soft 
breath of a spirit sounded in unison with his tones. 
Deeply affected he laid down his flute, and the harp 
also ceased to sound. He now commenced with a trem- 
bling frame Josephina's favourite air, and louder and 
more powerful the harp sounded its notes, uniting its 
tones in the most perfect unison with his. He sank 
down in joyful ecstacy upon the ground, stretched forth 
his arms to embrace the beloved shadow, and instant- - 
ly he felt himself as if breathed upon by the warm breath 
of spring, whilst a pale glimmering light floated around 
him. Deeply inspired he cried out, " I know thee 



302 THE HARP. 

hallowed shade of my sainted Josephina. Thou saidst 
thou wouldest surround me with thy love, thou hast 
kept thy word. I feel thy breath, I feel thy kisses on 
my lips, I feel myself embraced by thy glorified spirit." 
With deepest feelings of delight he again seized his 
flute, and again the harp sounded ; but always softer 
and softer, till at length its whispering tones died 
away. Sellner's whole frame was powerfully roused 
by the spiritual visitation of this evening, — restless, he 
threw himself upon his bed, and the whispering of the 
harp ever recurred to him in his heated dreams. Late 
and exhausted with the phantoms of the night he awoke, 
felt his whole frame strongly affected, and a voice plain- 
ly spoke within him, expressing as he thought his im- 
mediate dissolution, and announcing the victory of the 
soul over the body. With restless desire he waited 
for the evening, and with eager hopes repaired to the 
chamber of Josephina. Already had he succeeded in 
lulling himself with his flute into quiet dreams, when 
the ninth hour struck, and scarce had the last sound 
of the clock ceased to vibrate, when the harp began 
again softly to sound, till at last it thrilled in full har- 
monious chords. When his flute was silent, the magic 
also ceased. The pale glimmering light too floated 
over him, and in his ecstacyhe could only cry, "Jose- 
phina, Josephina, take me to thy affectionate bosom!" 
The tones of the harp at this moment parting with sighs, 



THE HARP. 808 

became softer and softer, until at length its whis- 
pers lost themselves in long tremulous chords. Still 
more powerfully agitated than ever by the occurrences 
of this evening, Sellner tottered back to his room. 
His faithful servant was terrified at his appearance, 
and went in spite of his master's prohibition, in search 
of the physician who was also the old friend of Sellner. 
The physician found him under a very severe attack of 
fever, accompanied with the same kind of symptoms 
that had attended Josephina's illness, but much worse 
in degree. The fever increased considerably through- 
out the night, during which he continually raved of 
Josephina and the harp. In the morning he became 
quieter, because the struggle was over, and he felt 
more and more plainly that his dissolution was at hand, 
though the physician would not allow it. The patient 
then related what had happened to him upon the two 
evenings, and all the cold reasoning of his sceptical 
friend could not draw him from his opinion. As the 
evening approached, he became still weaker, and begged 
at last with a trembling voice, that he might be carried 
into Josephina's room. It was done. In deep distress 
he looked around, saluted each sweet recollection with 
a silent tear, and spoke with undoubting firmness of 
the ninth hour as the time of his death. The decisive 
moment approached, he ordered all to retire after he 
had taken farewell of them, except the physician who 



304 THE HARP. 

insisted at all events on remaining. At length the ninth 
hour sent down its hollow sound from the Castle-tower; 
Sellner's countenance became illuminated, and a deep 
emotion glowed once more upon his pale features. 
" Josephina," cried he, as if actuated by divine inspira- 
tion. " Josephina, greet me yet once more on my 
departure, that I may know thou art near me, and 
may overcome death by the power of thy love." At 
this moment, the harp, as if by magic power began to 
pour forth its powerful chords, like songs of triumph, 
and then a glimmering light floated round the dying 
Sellner." " I come, I come," cried he, and sank 
back, struggling with life. Softer and softer sounded 
the notes of the harp, while a last remnant of bodily 
strength once more raised Sellner up, and at the same 
moment the strings of the harp snapt asunder as if torn 
by the hand of a spirit. The physician trembled in 
every limb, pressed to his heart the departed Sellner, 
who now in spite of the last struggle, lay with closed 
eyes as if in a soft slumber, and in deep agitation left 
the house. Many a year elapsed ere he could eradicate 
the remembrance of that hour from his heart, and he al- 
lowed a profound silence to rest over the last moments 
of his friend, till at length in a moment of confidence 
he communicated the occurrences of that evening to 
some friends, at the same time showed them the harp 
which he had kept as a remembrance of the departed. 

THE END. 

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